The little sparrow watched me observantly from its swaying perch on the nearby tree. It cocked its tiny head to the side and stared with round, black eyes. Self-consciously, I curled into myself, shielding my body from his gaze, and the wind’s tempest gusts. Still, the little sparrow watched on. I’m no source of amusement. You can hardly label me entertainment worthy, and yet the little fellow queerly hopped closer from its branch. It gazed at me with its impenetrable stare, and I felt then that it knew my secret.

Sweat gathered in the creases of my palms underneath my gray cotton gloves. So I sat on my hands and tried my best not to fidget. Just look the other way, I told myself, but I couldn’t stay that way for long. The wind was blowing, and streaking my face with wind-lashed tears. I turned away from the storm to see the little sparrow watching still.

It unnerved me this little bird. It had no right to judge. What I did was for the good, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t be so hasty to critique me. What I did was right! Anyone would do the same, wouldn’t they? Tell the truth even if it hurts. I sighed. My eyes slid to the side, away from his prying glare. I stared numbly at my fidgety leg and bit my lip and cried. The wind stings, it’s much too cold, and I forgot a napkin to wipe my nose.

Go away little sparrow, my thoughts hissed. It blinked, unmoved with my guilt trip. It shrugged its shoulders in the merciless wind, and chirped a cry of pain before letting its weight fall with a thud on the snowy floor. I bolted from the cold park bench, and knelt in the soggy snow. Digging my fingers underneath the earth I brought the sparrow close. It wasn’t dead, not yet, I moaned. Its tiny, fuzzy chest rose and its button black eyes blinked open and closed. Carefully I bit the finger of my glove and ripped my sweaty hand from its warmth and took one naked finger to sense his pulse. A small murmur and little hum…

Thrum a dum dum, I felt his heart.