The boona bird was heading my way, as if only it among the four of them had seen me. It walked toward the table and carefully bent down, its wide eyes instantly locking onto mine. I gasped, knowing the chase was over. Then Big Blue uttered one of the strangest laughs I had ever heard.
“Fow nu gif!” it added with an almost hysterical cackle as the trio of creatures advanced.
They bent down in unison, staring at me beneath the table with disapproving eyes and stern silence. I swallowed hard and sighed. The chase was over. Now I could only await my most certain doom.
A Slight Thaw
My eyelids pop open as everything begins to shake. Earthquake? Then all is calm again. I sit up and look around, part of my brain still sleeping. I must have dozed off after all the previous commotion. But the boona bird remains sound asleep next to me, and that one creature still sits quietly nearby, a finger stuck in each ear, muttering to itself. The two larger creatures in front continue to trudge forward, silent for a change as they dutifully maneuver this vehicle onward. Perhaps to my doom? Time will tell.
The cart begins to shake again and I realize we are on a bumpy road. I turn and gaze through the slits in the back gate. The road is pockmarked with small ruts and tiny stones, making for an uncomfortable ride compared to the previous miles we have logged. Will this trip ever end?
In the near distance behind us I spot another cart moving in the same direction. I imagine myself jumping out the next time we slow down and running to the approaching vehicle, begging to be let inside to escape my imprisonment, hunger and boredom. But it is just a silly dream as we move steadily onward. I doubt that I’ll ever escape.
Suddenly we hit a major rut and Big Blue’s bowl of water tips over. I move my feet out of the way just in time before they are splashed with the cold liquid. The boona bird awakes with a startled expression, calling out with a cry of despair as if the end of the world is near. Even the furry, light brown creature takes notice, momentarily ceasing her rocking and mumbling. I spring into action to upright the overturned bowl, but the water is lost.
The furry white creature in front calmly addresses the boona bird in reassuring tones as if promising that everything will be all right. Only a few minutes later the cart veers off the road to the right and slows down. Have we arrived already?
Looking through a side crack, I see us approach a large rectangular parcel of land, the brown grass having been flattened into the hard dirt. What pleasantly surprises me is the sight of several dozen carts of various shapes and sizes scattered all over the area, some of their owners milling about. Nearby is a bubbling stream where many of the creatures have stopped to refill their bowls for travel or are taking cool drinks directly from the water. Several trees grow along the stream, some bursting with apples and plums and other delicious fruits. Large rocks rise from the ground like ominous, gray icebergs as many of the creatures flock to them.
The leathery one signals for all of us to climb off the cart. I hop down after opening the back gate, happy to stretch my legs. Despite the throbbing in my big toe, the pain has subsided a little bit. Perhaps it isn’t broken after all. But do I have the strength and speed to make a run for it? I decide to postpone any drastic escape measures until I learn more about my new surroundings. But knowing I’m under watchful eyes, I’ll have to be extra careful. Then I feel a tug on my sleeve and realize I won’t be able to run now even if I wanted to.
The boona bird pulls on my coat sleeve with its bright orange beak, trying to steer me toward one of the large rocks. I sigh with exasperation, feeling that my punishment is near. The leathery creature and its furry white companion briefly consult with one another before pointing at the large rock and nodding their approval. Big Blue cackles with delight and steers me in that direction while the two creatures walk the other way toward the stream. The one with the lemon-yellow streak absentmindedly follows them, its fingers still plugged into its ears, joyfully oblivious to all.
As the boona bird and I near one of the larger rocks, occasionally passing several other creatures moving about, I start to hear a faint noise that grows louder the closer we get. It’s as if a flock of geese were winging overhead, honking ceaselessly at one another, their volume rising to uncomfortable levels. But the sounds don’t originate above me. This chaotic symphony of sorts is coming from the other side of the huge rock that Big Blue drags me toward with unbounded excitement. I’m filled with a sense of dread when the chorus of harsh voices begins to take on a familiar sound. I’ve heard this language before, but never like this. Not multiplied a million times over!
As we move around the right corner of the rock, my eyes bug out as a startling new scene is revealed. I’m rendered speechless for a moment, only able to shake my head with disbelief. Any dreams of escape now shatter like a pane of glass taking a direct hit from a wayward baseball. I want to plug my ears as the noise level rises to unbearable heights, but Big Blue bounces around with glee, pulling at my fingers, eager to join in the wild activities. Why, oh why, is this happening to me?
A short distance away to my utter horror are dozens upon dozens of boona birds in various shades of blue, all romping about and flapping their wings. Some frolic around the grass and among the trees, their playful chatter nonstop. And scattered among them are creatures similar in appearance to the three who accompanied me on the road. It is a whirlwind of color and commotion, and Big Blue eagerly drags me into the eye of this horrific storm.
“Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy!”
The chorus of bird calls goes on and on at earsplitting volumes, practically drowning out one another in one huge blob of headache-inducing sound. Yet the creatures observing this dizzying display seem to have no difficulty keeping track of and catering to the wishes of their particular boona birds.
“Peeez! Peeez! Peeez! Peeez! Peeez! Peeez! Peeez!”
The demands of the birds are never-ending to those who attend to their every whim, yet as I observe the multitude of interactions, most of the creatures seem content to do as the birds wish. And I fear I am about to join their ranks as Big Blue and I near the edge of the commotion. My ears ring and my brain seems to rattle around in my head. So ready or not, here we go!
Before I can take a second to make heads or tails of this craziness, the lumbering bird half waddles and half runs to one of several large circular stones embedded in the dirt, pulling me along as if I were a reluctant dog on a leash. Unlike the other circles, this one is empty to the bird’s delight. It immediately hops onto it and signals for me to run around the edge.
I clearly witness other creatures doing the same thing for their boona birds, some happily so, others begrudgingly, and am about to protest this indignity thrust upon me. Yet through my growing scowls of frustration, I also observe the other boona birds spinning about on the round rocks, giggling and dancing with pure joy as their counterparts obediently run faster and faster around them to entertain the birds as ordered.
I can’t help but grunt in amusement while watching those other boonas, and for a moment I almost feel pangs of guilt as Big Blue waits impatiently for me to move. A disappointed frown covers its face and notes of impatience creep into its voice as it cries out. “PAAAY wimmy! PAAAY wimmy!”
Unable to endure such a soul crushing performance, I leap into action and begin to run around the stone circle to the cackling cheers of the boona bird. It follows my every movement like a shadow, turning in circles too, faster and faster, its eyes always upon me while emitting continuous strings of giddy laughter. I, however, grow dizzy and tired from my task.
I soon wear myself out and have no choice but to stop. And despite the bird’s mild protest, it’s a little off balance as well when it steps off the circle and flops down on the ground to rest. I join it on the dry grass, enjoying a cool breeze upon my face as the noisy chatter of the other birds temporarily fades in the background. Soon my breathing returns to normal. My sudden urge to throw up subsides. Big Blue looks less p
ale in the face, too.
“All right if they take a turn?” a voice calls out from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder and see another boy about my age. He has a mop of curly hair and appears a bit exhausted as well. Standing next to him, jumpy and excited, are two boona birds, both nipping at his coat sleeves and loudly calling out peeez peeez peeez! Though I’m happy to see another prisoner on the road, I’m thankful that I only have half his burden.
“Sure,” I say, and then signal to the new arrivals to claim the round stone for themselves.
The two boona birds run to it and begin to frolic around on their own. Big Blue, after a quick glance my way as if seeking my permission, hurries to join them. The feathered trio instantly bond and have a wonderful time spinning in circles, none of them expecting or needing us to assist them. The boy, who introduces himself as Ronny, flops down on the ground beside me.
“We’ve been hanging around here for about twenty minutes and were just heading back to our cart,” he tells me, pointing eastward. “But my birds insisted on one more go round.” Ronny looks at me askance. “They’re driving me insane!” he whispers.
“Mine is too,” I reply. “And if I wasn’t starving to death, I’d make a run for it,” I add with a halfhearted laugh.
Ronny nods understandingly since our situations mirror one another in many ways. He eagerly tells me of his confinement, guessing that his journey should be ending within the hour. I estimate that my ride will be much longer. But we both agree that in the presence of the boona birds, it may as well be an eternity since that’s how it feels most of the time.
We part ways shortly afterward when the three boona birds have tired themselves out. Big Blue and I hurry back to the cart where our three creatures await us. After we climb back in and close the gate, the bird is delighted to see that its water bowl has been refilled. It takes a few gulps, and then the strangest thing happens. Big Blue, its eyelids now heavy and drooping, offers me a drink. Maybe because I’m as tired as the bird, or maybe because I’m feeling more friendly toward it, I decide to comply–or at least pretend to do so–and mimic drinking noisily from the bowl and then wiping my lips on my sleeve.
The boona bird appears genuinely happy that I have accepted its kind gesture. Then it slowly bends at the knees and lies down on the straw, closing its tired eyes as the cart begins to move along the road.
I sit and relax on a soft pile of straw, momentarily taken aback by Big Blue’s gracious deed. It was the last thing I had ever expected, especially after what I had gone through earlier this morning with that annoying feathery blue bundle. Still, it is a pleasant surprise. Or is it some sort of trick to put me off guard? I consider the situation for a moment and decide to go with pleasant surprise–at least for now.
When I notice my other riding companion–still with fingers lodged in ears–I decide to make a noble gesture of my own after our dustup earlier today. If Big Blue can act civilly, then why can’t I? Maybe a few heartfelt words from me might help iron over our deep misunderstanding. Maybe they might free me from my punishment and from this anguished state that envelopes my mind and heart like a thick fog.
I quietly crawl past the boona, careful not to awaken it. Then once again I tap the light brown creature on the shoulder as its head swings from side to side, knowing that I’m risking another ear-piercing outburst. But I haven’t much more to lose as I prepare to tap a second time, never getting the chance.
The creature turns its head and growls, its eyes glaring at me with such fiery disdain as if they belong to Medusa herself. Nope! With a tightening knot in my stomach, I realize that it’s not open to an apology of any kind. I readily get the message and slink back to my spot, burrowing into the straw for what will no doubt be another restless nap. This burden will not be lifted from me any time soon, if ever.
I close my eyes as pangs of hunger gnaw at me. The voices of the two drivers engaged in another lively conversation fill the background. I can see no signs of joy or contentment awaiting me at the end of this long journey. I was found guilty at this morning’s trial and will continue to await serving my sentence in moody silence, the anguish weighing down upon me like a crushing boulder.
As I slowly raise an eyelid, I watch the one creature rocking steadily back and forth, fingers in ears. Ah, my judge and my jury, apparently unbothered by any of today’s events. But will I ever experience such peace of mind again? I have no idea. I close my eye with a helpless sigh as images of that awful trial earlier today play over and over in my mind like a dark dream.
Judgment Day
I had cowered for a moment beneath the farmhouse table earlier that morning like a frightened pup, and then crawled out with all the grace of a wet rat climbing out of a sewer. Not my finest moment, I’ll admit. But at last I bravely stood up, a wanderer and trespasser in this strange land who was prepared to accept the consequences.
I saw the furry, light brown creature pointing at me, its long, thin claws seemingly waving back and forth at fifty miles an hour. Worse yet, I heard that same creature spout an unending rant against me, its lips probably running at a hundred miles per hour, or close to it.
“Aaaiiieeeee! Yik yaahk! Aaaiiieeeee! Yik Yaahk! Blih blah blih blah blu!”
It was awful, yet perhaps somewhat deserved. After all, the poor thing did discover a strange alien being–namely, me–lurking inside its private chamber. But my sore eardrums felt that maybe the enormous level of hysterics didn’t fit the crime.
And as bad as all the theatrics were, surprisingly worse was the nearly icy silence and judgmental looks from the two older creatures. The tall leathery individual pulled out one of the wooden chairs and indicated for me to sit down as the furry white one stared at me, repeatedly shaking its head with apparent disappointment.
But I was maddest of all at the boona bird for tracking me down and revealing my location to the others, as well as cackling with delight at my capture. But I’m having second thoughts about Big Blue’s behavior as I reflect on that moment. I’m wondering if that feathery blue blob was merely excited to find me and was emitting a playful, giddy laugh to demonstrate that, not to taunt me and rat me out as I had first thought. At the time though, I was slowly steaming, hoping that the boona bird would fly off and never bother me again.
But all those thoughts took a back seat when a sudden and eerie quiet settled upon the room. Another shoe was about to drop, and I assumed it was going to drop smack on top of my head. The leathery creature placed a second chair a few feet away directly opposite me and indicated for my now silent accuser to sit down. Then it and the furry white one sat next to each other just off to the side. Big Blue merely wandered around the room, searching for something interesting to look at while paying scant attention to the proceedings. I, however, feared my judgment was at hand.
Then a flood of words issued forth like a tidal wave–Yik yaahk! Yik Yaahk! Blih blah blu!–most of them from the younger creature–Aaaiiieeeee! Aaaiiieeeee!–and most of them aimed at me–Yaahk! Yaahk! Yaahk! Yaahk! Yaahk!–with occasional interruptions from the two observers on the side. My trial had begun.
As Big Blue waddled about, it occasionally eyed me with a sad, silent stare. But all I did was sit there and endure the hailstorm of words, not really understanding them or even hearing them, only feeling their impact upon me. It was as if a howling wind was continually battering my face so that I couldn’t breathe or think or see straight. But I, Griffin Ghostley, suffered the indignity of it all until the fierce storm finally subsided.
But the worst was not yet over. Not by a long shot.
Soon after, the three creatures quietly consulted with one another, huddled together like members on a football team discussing their next play. Their whispered words intimidated me, but not as much as the occasional glances from the smallest of the trio, the one with the lemon-yellow streak along the back of its head. Then everyone sat down again, their eyes aimed at me with laser beam intensity.
The leathery o
ne spoke for a moment, its words stern and steady. But I had hardly heard them as my mind was in a fog. Then the light brown one, my apparent judge in this matter, spoke in icy cold tones. But I heard nothing, only seeing the movement of its lips as she pronounced my sentence and pointed a finger directly at me with cruel satisfaction.
As if to emphasize the importance of this legal affair, she pounded a fist against its other upturned hand like a judge banging a gavel down to signal the end of a trial. But this was my trial, and my doom had been pronounced. I now felt only emptiness inside.
I remained in my seat, trying to absorb all that had just happened as the boona bird stood guard nearby. The other three creatures had departed, though I could hear their movements and occasional utterances in different parts of the farmhouse. I waited for what was in store next, but didn’t have to wait very long.
Soon the signal was given and everyone assembled near the front entrance. In stony silence, I was marched outside and led unceremoniously to a wooden cart in the cold, gray morning. The vehicle stood beneath an oak tree whose dying leaves drifted to the ground like giant snowflakes. But there were no horses or animals of any kind tethered to this cart. Instead, the large creature and its furry white companion each slipped a rope harness over their shoulders and grabbed onto a wooden crossbar in front of them, ready to propel the rickety vehicle forward.
I was hustled onto the cart through a back gate, joined by the third creature and the boona bird. Moments later, the cart began to move. Each of us found a place to sit on a bed of dry straw strewn over the floor. Moments later, Big Blue began to nip at my sleeve, calling out to me in unbearable tones.
“Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy! Paaay wimmy!”
The two drivers in front were not any better, suddenly engaging each other in a most lively conversation I couldn’t understand, but to which I was subjected to every word and syllable. Formaggio? Or DiMaggio? And so much laughter about a lot o’ gelato?
Prisoner of the Giant Boona Bird (A Griffin Ghostley Adventure Book 2) Page 3
