My leg ached as I hobbled across the gritty slabs of concrete. Flying was not an option; my wings could fall off they were so tired. My long journey had left me weak and hungry, longing for a bit of warm shelter and food. I spotted a few sesame seeds (fallen from a take-away burger, probably) lying on the earth. I limped over and started filling my beak with the sweet, crunchy seeds, and I wondered if there was a decent place I could do my business. Pigeons these days don’t even bother, can you believe?!!! They just take off and plop whenever they feel like it!

Right then, I suddenly heard ear splitting beeps of urgency, and I spun around. I came face-to-face with a titanic human camper van, which was whooshing towards me at an unstoppable speed. The driver was swearing loudly, and his voice was noticeably slurred. He was probably drunk, the tattoo splattered across his bald head said so. I instinctively spread my wings and soared up above the clouds, letting the van speed by underneath me. I let out a, “whrooouuh,” of triumph when my left wing stopped working completely and flopped limply to my side. I struggled in the air, wildly swiping with my one working wing.

A thought swooped into my miniscule brain before I could stop it, ‘well, at least my right wing’s still working, thank God!' My remaining wing snapped. It slopped lifelessly in the air as I plummeted down to earth, certain death awaiting me.

My short, dirty, unhappy life flashed before my eyes, and I closed my eyes bracing myself for the thud, the pain, the darkness, the nothing. The crackly grit of the concrete didn’t come. Instead, I landed in a soft, crocheted shawl which instantly wrapped me up and soothed me. My head was spinning, spinning, drenched in drowsiness, and the last thing I remembered before I blacked out was a pair of kind, dark brown eyes...

I woke with a “fhump.” I felt over my body and gingerly touched my sore leg. It was seconds after that the feeling came into my head, and joy to flood through my body. I was alive! I was alive! Tears of pure joy fell down my cheeks as I thought that even a bad life, is better, than none at all.

My refreshed eyes took in my new surroundings, and I realized I was in a plastic cage wired with electric heaters. Suddenly, I saw an elegant she-human tiptoe into the room, her face turning to where my cage sat. Her dark, brown eyes found my orange ones and she smiled warmly.

“Hello, little one,” she whispered, gliding closer, “aren’t you beautiful? Come now, no need to be scared, I’ll open your cage and treat you with some tasty sunflower seeds. What do you say?” Never in my life have I trusted a human, never in my life have I gone near one, let alone sit on one’s hand and eat their seeds. But there was something about her voice, her words, and the undenying fact that she’d saved me from death, I hopped forward. Strangely, I couldn’t bend my leg and the pain was sharper than usual, though I didn’t let it bother me. The main reason I moved at all was because of her face, a face so old yet so beautiful it made my spine tingle.

Normal humans have odd faces, eyes in front rather than at both sides of their heads, and weird long fingers sticking out at awkward angles from sweaty, hot palms. I hated the way they used to look at my mother when she strolled over to search for some food. Their look said, eww, germs, get away you disgusting creatures. The families couldn’t handle the kids, either, they let them roam around hitting innocent pigeons with sticks or paintball guns or even plastic swords.

The she-human opened the doors to the cage, and let me hop on to her delicate finger. It was smooth and cool, comforting my feet and relaxing my sore, stiff muscles. While I dug my beak in the glorious amount of sunflower seeds, the she-human studied my sore leg.

 I understood as she explained how humans called ‘vets’ fixed my broken leg by putting a small, metal stick in it. Then she talked a bit about her childhood, and how her love for birds grew stronger and stronger to this day. Though pigeons told their life stories at the centre all the time, I was never interested in them. Now I was hanging onto the she-human’s every word, and sympathizing for her unsuccessful moments in life.

I examined her small, old face and saw there were wrinkles covering her skin, worry lines streaming like the ocean itself across her baggy forehead, cheekbones sharp and sticking out.  But her hair was a crystal white and looked shiny, almost magical, in the half-light.

Her eyes, oh her eyes, were a dark, chocolate brown, they were kind, loving, soft, beautiful and the most sweetest, sparkling eyes I have ever seen on a human before. “Listen here, LittleBird,” she sighed softly, “I will look after you until your leg heals, but after that I must leave.”

I looked at her, disappointed.

“LittleBird,” she said again, “I must set you free. Do forgive me, sparky one, but you deserve to set your life back on track.” I gave a small, “whrooouuh,” of laughter. Me? Get my life on track? No, no, I was keeping my life on track, but it had spun out of control faster than I could say birdseed.