All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
When the Birds Cry
I love it when the birds cry. Every day I sit outside waiting under the big oak tree on school grounds, without a single living soul around. Not even birds, and yet I can hear their cry.
If you asked me to explain what it sounded like I honestly couldn't tell you, I just know. Its like learning to walk for the first time, its instinct. This instinct simply tells me that the birds are crying.
This will be my eighth time to meet him, and while waiting I always find myself thinking about the first.
Its tough being a female in high school, especially if your me. I'm not very smart, I have no beauty, I'm definitely not athletic, and I'm just more of a square than a circle. Not very well rounded.
What makes it worse is that I'm constantly picked on by other girls in my grade, both the popular and drug addicts. In a small school like mine those are the two main groups, but there are some like me that stand in neutral territory.
One day while going from one class to the other I was grabbed by the druggies. The dragged me to the old girls bathroom and tossed me to the ground. They kicked me in the ribs and beat black and blue. One of them punched me in the nose and I swear I heard it crack. Once they finished they lit up some cigarettes and joints and blew the smoke in my face. And why did they do all this? For fun.
They left and I lay on the floor, a mixture of blood, sweat, and tears covering my damaged face and body. Once I found the strength to stand I went outside. I burst through the doors of my school and searched for sanctuary. Then my eyes fell upon the big oak tree.
I approached it and put my back against it's trunk. I slumpec down slowly to the ground. Feeling it's bark rub against my back in a painfully strange comfort. I hit the ground and brought my knees to my chest, and buried my head in my hands. Thats, when for the first time, I heard the birds cry.
I looked up frantic to this unfamiliar sound and I saw him, standing to my right leaning up against the tree. He was dressed in black and had look of empathy in his eyes. I began the conversation by asking his name. He replied but with no answer. He told me how I shouldn't be treated the way I am and how he could help me. I asked how and he told me that one day the birds will cease their crying for me. He told me he would meet me again in the same spot once a week, and that I would know when to be waiting.
Sure enough instinct lead me to the tree on those days, and everyday I would ask if today was the day. And each reply was a small shake of the head.
So here I sit, waiting for our eighth encounter. I began to play with my hair when I heard the sounds of the birds crying, signalling his arrival. I jumped to me feet and turned to meet him. He was dressed in the same attire as always and still had the same look in his eye. "Today is the day," is what he said. I smiled with excitement. He offered out his hand and I foolishly took it.
The sky turned dark and the birds began to scream in agony. He pulled me toward him and spun me around pinning me to the tree. His clothes attached themselves to his skin and his teeth began to turn into fangs. And in that moment his eyes lost all empathy as they turned red.
He grabbed my head and pounded it against the trunk of the tree, until my head split open. He let his grip go of me and I fell to the ground.
When I came to I was standing next to the oak tree in a black and white distorted world, staring at my body on the ground. I looked down and I was clothed in black. He had helped me, but now I must do as he does.
So if you ever hear the birds cry, it might just be me.