PRISONER EXPRESS

About two weeks ago I tied a piece of twine to a chain link fence facing the window in my cell. It was a loosely spun white piece of twine about a foot long. What compelled me to do this, I do not know. Possibly because it gave me something different to look at other than the never changing, always boring routines of prison life.

Something new to see.
At least it did not always swing the same way. It was soothing to see it swing carelessly in whichever direction the wind took it. Much like my stale dreams whenever I allow my mind to wander off. They flap this way and they flap that way but in the end lead to nowhere.

I awoke this morning to see a bird toying with it. That was a pleasant sight to wake up to. I have no knowledge of bird species but I called this one a sparrow. I cannot name a single feature on a sparrow, but for no apparent purpose I decided to make it a sparrow. I'm just like the fiddler: the fiddler plays. Though no one listens. The fiddler plays. For no purpose at all, a sparrow it is.

My sparrow tugged and pulled at the twine testing its strength. It's currently spring, birds the world over are looking for nesting material. My sparrow is no different in this endeavor.

It became persistent on having the twine. It hovered in mid-air vigorously flapping its wings with the twine in its beak. When that didn't work it began to peck at it but still the twine remained fastened to the fence.

I wished it would stop and leave my piece of twine alone.
From far away I heard the first rumblings of the voices once again. I once hated and feared them. It's like being in the middle of a stadium full of people speaking Arabic and you don't understand a single word they say. Every once in awhile one voice would speak louder than the others and begin to make sense. In a subconscious way you understand what he's saying. Sweat breaks out on your forehead as you cling on to this lone voice and strain to block out all the other voices. It's becoming clearer now, you almost have it. Just as you get closer to the meaning all the other voices come rushing back in a maddening wave and drown out that solitary voice that seemed to be the anchor to it all. It's like a giant tsunami wave coming crumbling down on a gentle sea wave.

My sparrow finally stopped its senseless wrestling with the twine. It stood inside a link on the fence intensely eyeing the twine as if planning a new assault strategy. The intelligence I recognized in its eyes I would have never attributed to a bird. Every now and then it cocked its head eyeing the situation from different angles. It stretched its neck towards it but pulled back in an instant. Finally, it flew back into the air and caught the twine in its beak once again.

As a child these voices would wake me up in the middle of the night. I laid next to my older brother listening to these voices in my head silently crying in terror because I could not make sense of them. I was so terrified that all I could do was weakly touch my brother with a trembling hand in a vain attempt to get his attention. This never worked and if it did it was ignored. I laid in terror for what seemed like hours listening to these voices.

Why won't my sparrow just leave my piece of twine alone? It's decided to try a new strategy and run it in and out of the link it's tied to. He's too clumsy in his desperation for the string. Stupid bird, you better be careful not to get it wrapped around your...

The voices came in such intensities at times that I was forced to sleep with a radio blaring next to me just to block them out. Being a kid I would have little choice in what I would listen to. Most of the time it was some Spanish tune. This suited me just fine. With it came thoughts of happy times at carnivals with smiling clowns in big red shoes and of eating pink cotton balls. It's hard to miss the connection. Almost every Spanish tune my parents listened to had that same beat and rhythm as carnival music. Toon-ting-toon-ting-toon-ting.

Damn! Here I am locked in my cage unable to help my sparrow who has just hanged himself.

I've never seen a bird hang himself. I've never even heard of such an event. As terrible as the sight is I cannot keep my eyes off of it.

My mother had yelled at me when I told her of the voices. "It's because you see too much television!" She had screamed--ignoring the fact that I hardly saw the television. "There's only one way to cure it!" It caught me utterly by surprise when she grabbed a handful of my hair in a clenched fist and rocked my head side to side like a Chihuahua caught in a Rotweiler's massive jaws.

My poor sparrow is only making his situation worse by swinging in circles as it tries to fly off the string. The twine is not loose but tight as a whip as it cuts into my sparrow's neck. Its flutterings look much weaker now as white foam speckled with pink dots comes spiraling out of it's nostrils and bubble around its beak.

I once read this happens because air sacs in the lungs burst as they struggle to cope with the lack of fresh air. It could have been tiny water sacs, I don't remember and I really do not care at the moment but surely this is what my sparrow is going through as it slowly and painfully suffocates to death.

When she finally stopped swinging my head we looked at each other for no more than a fraction of a second but it seemed like an eternity suspended in time. For that one moment that I looked into my mother's eyes I felt nothing, my emotions became a black void. Then it came. I did not burst into tears a sobbing mess but simply stood there and asked one word. Why? My head felt like it had needles in every hair follicle but that pain paled when compared to the one I felt in my heart as it had its first taste of betrayal. The feeling was raw and savage to my innocence.

For a moment my sparrow and I stare at each other as it feebly gulps for air that will never enter its lungs. I with my wide and trembling eyes and he with its ancient reptilian eyes. The world around me becomes shadows and phantoms of my peripheral vision as sweat breaks on my brow. At the center of my sight I only see one thing; my sparrow with accusing yellow eyes looking at me. Like that lone voice of so long ago, I struggle to understand the meaning in my sparrow's soul piercing eyes.

It is dead now. I cannot distinguish between its twitching nerves and the wind.

The voices went away the day my hair was almost uprooted in one swoop. Occasionally I would hear faint traces in the distance but they were too far away to be of any harm. Coldness replaced them. Some nights I would lie in bed willing them to come back and keep me company. The cold is worst. I could imagine being thrown into the Arctic Ocean would feel the same way. At first it would sting, obviously there would be pain, but then numbness as the cold envelopes you. You do not die, you just remain cold and numbed to your surroundings.

A strong wind has blown into the area. My dead sparrow and I continue to stare at each other as swings back and forth on my piece of twine. I detach myself from its mesmerizing swing and study it.

A beautiful bird has hanged itself with a piece of twine. Its lifeless body gently swings back and forth in arcs like a pendulum riding the wind. Its claws are not clenched as I would expect but open in a neutral position. Its beak is slightly opened with dry foam covering it. Its eyes are yellow marbles that stare between black feathers. If I were to be closer I would more than likely see a faint opaqueness creeping in around its edges. The twine around the neck is lost in its feathers. The end my sparrow so bitterly struggled with hangs loosely at its side carelessly swinging in the wind.

Why?
Far away I hear the voices coming towards me like a swarm of starving locusts on the horizon. With every passing second, its steady drone comes nearer and nearer. Soon I will be inundated with its soothing cacophony.