The Cage - A Very Short Story

Mark felt pity for the bird in the cage. A green parrot, a miserable sight: he barely had space enough to flap his wings. He would turn left, right, and he was back where he started. The cage was a Victorian affair, shaped like a pagoda and ornate with iron flowers, beautiful, but small. Not that any cage would be big enough. Mark wondered how came his grandma felt she had a right to keep an animal trapped for life, especially a smart animal like a parrot.

He had asked Grandma to free the bird, and she hadn’t listened to him. Grown-ups never did. ‘He’s happy,’ she said.

‘He’s not. He can’t be.’

‘He’s better pampered than most humans, Mark.’

‘Would you be happy spending all your life in a cage?’

She dismissed him with a smile, a gesture, and an offer of cake.

On Mayday last year, Mark decided to stop complaining, and act. Grandma had gone to the loo; he was alone in the room. A tempting sunshine dappled in, and the parrot was looking at the sky with a forlorn air.

Mark climbed on a chair. He clicked the cage open.

The parrot looked at him, at a loss, for a moment. He flapped his wings tentatively. Mark drew back and nodded. The parrot flew outside of the cage, and after circling the room, outside of the window.

Mark run to the windowsill, to look at the parrot fly away, becoming a green speck in the blue sky, and then nothing at all. It was a joy. Grandma would be mad, but Mark could deal with it.

The parrot was the last present Grandma got from her husband, on the last birthday they would spend together. He reminded her of their love, so much.