Solitary is bitter to starving souls searching for freedom but freedom is what I have always dreamt of. A world where I can sing with the wind and join the chorus of flocking birds singing in the dawn. A life far greater than being a caged bird. I am having the serenity to accept the things I cannot say. I am hoping the Jones will do the same. They tell me too much. In this countryside manor by the lake, there are five caged birds and I’m just one of them. The other four share surnames and are species of the same.
At 7.45pm Mr. Jones sits in the library watching me in the corner of the room next to loud oak clock. I find solace in the corner as I’m shielded from his jokes whilst he sips on rum and coke. Infused with whisky breath and just when he runs out of punchlines, he confesses by proceeding to tell me his job is clinging on a prayer. Oil is just not as lucrative as it was. Volatility is the thief of riches. I couldn’t help but see, a man who nursed his wounds and numbed his soul with alcohol. He leaves at 9.30pm that Monday.
Mrs. Jones comes back from the local brunch at 2pm dressed in the polka dot dress and black stilettos. she rearranges the flowers in the room. Now all she ever does is decorate. She used to work in the city and now settles for a life in the countryside. I saw the fear in her eyes when she cleaned my cage. She told me caged birds are safe. Perhaps that’s why she never left because she felt safe here.
Thomas Jones came today in search of a law book. He is falling his Tort module. He practices daily on the same speech. How he doesn’t want to seem ungrateful nor cruel. He didn’t really want to go into law school. I saw the tears he holds back just on the fact that he cannot talk to his dad. Then he looks across the window and see his fort. How the adventures outside bought him joy.
Kimberly Jones feeds me treats. She’s kind, patient and sweet. I like that she always acknowledges me. She reads to me her favourite books verbatim. I get on with her the most. I’ll never forget the day she sang to me and I couldn’t help but sing too. Melodies melting the metaphysical. Yet, she has no friend at school. She asked me not to tell anyone. So, I won’t tell you too much. If only she felt comfortable enough to open to her parent.
All hell broke loose and the Jones got scorched. Mr. Jones lost his job at 10.25am. He came to the library to cry. Mrs Jones sat next to him telling him it is an opportunity and a blessing in disguise. All he could comprehend was the house, the car and the lifestyle. He shouted. She cried. I stayed silent pretending to sleep but I was the caged bird that knew everything.
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