The Birds Did No Such Thing

Nov 6th, 2023: Magdalena Department, Colombia

Pedro forced open a fresh bag of seeds. A bit too forcefully, perhaps. The hundreds of seeds on the ceramic tile floor were evidence that it was so. But Pedro was not bothered. This week, nothing could bother Pedro. A contact of his from the Wildlife Conservation Society of Colombia had called to deliver good news. Guadalupe was getting a mate!

Since his arrival at the WCS Magdalena facility, Pedro had cared for a number of endangered birds. But Guadalupe was special. She was a blue-billed curassow, a species teetering the edge between critically endangered and extinct. Guadalupe was often described as “skittish”, “uncooperative”, and “untrusting” by the others at the facility. But she and Pedro had established a sort of rapport. To the point where Paola would often poke fun at the situation during their lunch-time conversations.

“It’s as if you two went to secondary school together”, she would jest. And Pedro would reply, “yes, we took Introduction to Aeronautical Engineering together; she was a savant with those differential equations.”.

Pedro picked up the last seed with his fingers, stuck in a crack in the tile where the broom couldn’t get to it. And suddenly, the door to the storage room opened. “Pedro, did you take Lupe out of her enclosure?”, Paola asked with concern. Pedro’s eyes widened. He dropped the bag and moved past her quickly.

The empty enclosure was not a sight Pedro was ready to accept. Surely, Paola must be pulling some sort of prank. But no, if Paola tried to move Guadalupe, he would have heard it from anywhere in the building. Plus, Paola wouldn’t do something cruel like that. There was only one explanation.

“Those poachers malparidos!”, he shouted. Without thinking, he ran out of the room, almost knocking over Paola on his way out the door. He dashed, slowing only to draw a machete from the umbrella stand by the exit.

His boots sank into the mud as he scanned his surroundings. It had rained last night, and nobody put a tarp over the topless jeep. There were no tire tracks, no boot prints, and no cries for help from his avian friend. In fact, there was no sound at all. On a day like this, the trees should be alive with birdsong. But now, an eerie silence infected the trees. The only sounds were that of his breath and a heavy thumping in his chest.

Paola, still inside, searched the enclosure for any gaps in the wire. Any sign of escape. There was none. And Pedro's poacher theory would have had merit, if it wasn’t for the intact combination lock dangling from the gate.

April 17th, 2024: Montreal, Canada

Laura Questrell English 9, Period 6

The birds did not fly south this winter The birds did no such thing The birds did not fly anywhere Oh what an awful thing

And what will we do now? - They ask I hear it on the news The birds did so many things for us Those things we’ve had to lose

I pray that they come back soon I pray with all my heart Because the way that things are going We’ll all soon fall apart

June 12th, 2025: New York City, USA

Two men in suits stood in front of an oval table. The glass windows behind them overlooking the metropolis below.

“Ron, breathe. Let’s go over this one more time. We have 22 minutes before Mr. Finch arrives. Pitch me”

Ron hunched down to his laptop on the table and squinted his eyes as he dragged his index finger on the touchpad. The large flat-screen behind him lit up with a shoddy corporate logo of an ant accompanied by the title BUGZ!.

“Mr. Finch, my colleague and I appreciate you taking the time to meet with us. We know you’re probably very busy -”

“Get to the point; he doesn’t wanna hear that.” said the other man.

“Yes, you’re right. Mr. Finch, we're all very aware of the problems facing our society in these dire times. Crop yields are at a record low, global politics are a mess, and hunger in the US is at its highest point since the great depression.”

“Good start, he probably remembers it”- he chuckles.

“But where others see strife and turmoil, our team at Bugz! LLC sees an incredibly lucrative opportunity."

A chart depicting corn yield trends appears on the screen.

The US has relied on corn as the foundation of our food supply for decades. That’s not going to be an option for much longer. The insect pest population is growing uncontrollably, and we speculate that this will only get worse.”

A collage of photos animates onto the screen one by one. Insects piled onto destroyed crops. Ron smiles and stands more confidently.

“We figure, why not kill two birds with one stone?!”

The other man cringes, “Too soon. Please don’t use that one.”

“Right. Why not take care of both problems at the same time? Yes, that’s what Bugz! LLC is uniquely poised to do. With your financial support, we aim to increase our insect-based protein product line and significantly expand our production infrastructure. When our company was first valued, we faced some challenges. Americans eating insects as a core part of their diet was ludicrous to many.”

“Namely Americans.”, the other man rolls his eyes, his attention turning to his phone.

“But now, that’s changed. People are hungry. Going into debt just to feed their families. These folks are desperate for a product like ours to offer an affordable, nutrient-rich, and dare-I-say delicious solution to this...”

Ron trails as he notices the expression on his colleague’s face.

"What’s up, Dave?”

Dave covered his mouth, eyes wide.

“Holy shit. London...”

He moves the screen in front of Ron's face. A CNN article played a shaky cell-phone video of a mushroom cloud expanding in the distance.

“They nuked London.”

And then, beyond the glass panes of the conference room. From the streets below. Sirens blared.

November 6th, 2123: (Formerly) Reykjavik, Iceland

Sigrún dropped the shrimp-filled net into the basket. This could be the biggest single haul of the season. She still had an hour before the sunset and already had a week’s worth of shrimp. Her sister would be turning 14 tomorrow, and in a few years, the two of them could be out here. Away from the shore, telling jokes and laughing about Ólafur’s outrageous stories.

“Oh, how the years go by.”, she thought.

It was just months ago that her father let her take the boat out on her own. Sitting on the stool, she looked out to the sea, watching the red-hued sun crawl slowly into the ocean. She smiled and laid on her back, eyes turned up to the ever-cloudy sky. The rocking of the boat was comforting, and she closed her eyes.

In her mind, she saw herself on a boat surrounded by water on all sides. She imagined her body floating upward. Leaving the boat behind as she drew nearer to the clouds. And through the clouds she went, surrounded now not by water, but by a dark fog. And she continued upwards, faster and faster. An exhilarating sensation of acceleration driving her still body higher and higher.

And then she was no longer watching her body. She looked with her own eyes at the world below her. Her home, a relatively small land compared to the massive clouded continents below. Europe, Africa, the Americas. All of the places from Ólafur’s maps. She wondered what those places were like. If there were other girls like her living there, looking up at the sky from their shrimp boats and wondering about her and her home.

Her daydream was interrupted by a sharp weight on her chest. She opened her eyes and was face to face with a creature. A winged, beaked, black creature that looked at her. Its head, turning sideways, then swiftly righting itself. She could feel the pressure of its sharp talons through her thick coat.

The suddenness of its appearance frightened her. But its shape seemed familiar. She knew then what this creature was. Ólafur told stories of how their departure reddened the sun and brought the clouds. A Hrafn, one of Odin’s messengers. A friend sent to guide her ship back to shore. And with luck, all the shores she could dream of exploring.