Brianna Little

The Dying Bird

Take a moment and imagine that you were small. So small that you’re miniscule in the face of an average and ‘normal’ person. A crowd of giants, blurry figures tipping their heads in pity towards someone like you. It’s the necessity. They stare, and stare at the anomaly that you are. You are different. People will praise individuality but avoid abnormality like the plague. But maybe you don’t understand, because you aren’t abnormal like me. You get to walk away as I fall further into the depths of leather and metal encapsulating my frail body like a dying bird. It squishes my skin to force me into the consciously congruent state of my cast-ironed life.