I wasn't what you would call a normal child. I never cried, or smiled, or anything really. For the first nine years of my life I was stuck in a state of perpetual apathy. My parents tried their best to coax a smile from me, and when they took me to get my booster shots they almost prayed that I would cry, I didn't. Nothing affected or phased me. Even when my mother died I couldn't produce a single tear. I loved my mother, at least I think what I felt for her was love...She provided for me, and tried her best to make me happy, I truly appreciated it, but what was the point of crying over something that was gone?


My father was angry that I did not mourn my mothers passing. As he led me to the coffin to view her body, he looked down at me hoping to see a tear...Just one tear. He kneeled down next to me at the coffin.



"Your mother is dead!" He whispered, or at least attempted to whisper as everyone in the funeral home heard "Doesn't that make you feel anything!"



I shook my head, no. He looked at me with a look of upmost contempt. As if every molecule in his body was filled with a hate for this apathetic creature he called son. His fist clenched as if he was going to beat me....Hit some emotion out of me, but paternal instinct took over, and he simply looked away, tears streaming down his face.




Three months after my ninth birthday my father and I moved to a small 2 bedroom house in the country. We had no neighbors, and we rarely saw a car drive by. We literally lived in the middle of nowhere.




I would spend most of my days sitting by the road, watching day turn to night. It was on one of these sitting sessions, that my life was changed.




It was a Saturday, my father had left for town, I decided to stay home. I sat in my usual spot and stared at the sky. The clouds rolled by leisurely and the sun glared down heating the earth. Something caught my eye, something I rarely saw, a bird. It flew gracefully through the sky, dancing to the music of nature. It painted peaceful pictures with its wings, its feathers rustled a drum beat, and it sang with the voice of an angel. It landed on the road in front of me, taking a brief rest. I stared at the bird in awe at its beauty. It was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen, a creature un tainted by the world.




I heard a deep growl from the distance, as a van sped in my direction. The bird either didn't hear or care about the van. The vehicle crushed the little bird, which muttered a final squeak. I stood up quickly, in shock. The graceful creature now lay in a broken mass. It's beautiful feathers covered in blood, and its angel song silenced. I ran over to it, and picked it up. I cradled the bird close to me, it's blood covering my shirt, but I didn't care. The man in the van didn't even look back. Hadn't even noticed the bird. He would never know he had taken a life that day. I looked down at the shell of a beautiful creature which I held. Life could be beautiful, and the world was cruel.




I cried.





My father came home to find me in the living room crying, covered in tears, snot, and blood. I looked up at him, and he looked down at me.




"Are you hurt?!" He asked dropping a bag of groceries he was carrying.



"No," I replied "Just sad."



He took me up in his arms, and cried for what felt like hours. I cried for my mother, for everything I had lost in my short life.




I am so grateful for that bird. The bird that taught me how to feel. That showed me the world was beautiful.