Mr Percival’s Last Stand
Tenney Yu, Year 8
The floor was a bloody mess. Literally. I sat on Storm Boy’s lap in front of the burning fire. The humpy was quieter than an endless void, no sound besides the crackling fire could be heard. Once in a while, Storm Boy would unstick my matted feathers, or straighten my broken wing. The bullet wound hurt worse than a hundred fire ants biting you and it only got worse every second. My breath was raspy and shallow and I was not getting enough oxygen through my body.
Breathe in…
Breathe out…
I could feel Storm Boy’s hand on my back, gently rubbing me and telling me to live on, the warmth of the fire was as inviting as the air I once flew in, beckoning me to go higher and higher… but I couldn’t. I couldn’t just leave Storm Boy here, all by himself. I had to keep fighting.
Fighting…
And suddenly I saw it again. I was up in the clouds, on patrol, again. The air was weightless, just like me, and the sea breeze was like a slap on the face, even though it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But I had a job to do. So, I flew down, down, down.
Down…
My eyes snapped open. I looked around. I wasn’t in the air. I was laying on Storm Boy’s lap, in front of the fire. The humpy was as old as time itself, the wood wet from storms and battered from cyclones. It was home. Storm Boy gently sung lullabies to me and I closed my eyes again and drifted off.
Again…
I was diving down, down, down. The sanctuary was full of ducks and pelicans. I could see Mr Proud and Mr Ponder, diving into the Coorong and coming back up with their bills filled with fish. They saw me and flew away. The ducks scampered away as they caught sight of me, circling the skies and crying for them to run.
Run…
No. I’m not slipping away this time. I willed myself to stay.
‘RUN!’ I needed to save those innocent birds. The clouds parted at my call and the tussocky grasses cover their ears as I cried. The ibises ran like cheetahs, tripping over rocks as they went. The blue cranes took cover in the tussocks. Then I heard a voice. A cruel, mean voice that sent shivers up my spine and made my feathers stand up like the fur on a cat. I looked down and saw him. His ugly face was twisted and contorted in a look of absolute hatred, making his acne and wrinkles ten times worse than they already were. His stench was so strong the sand covered its nose and the sky coughed up stratus clouds. His Carbine was pointed right in front of me, the muzzle’s abyss seeming to swallow everything, a black hole in the world. I knew what was going to happen. But I had a duty. And I was prepared to die for it.
No. Not yet.
Breathe in…
Breathe out…
I couldn’t die now.
I was sitting in front of the fire again. Storm Boy whispered to me. They were the last word I ever heard. “Mr Percival,” he said, “you’re the best, best friend I ever had.” I wanted to respond somehow, just move my beak and nudge him. But my body fell limp, and I closed my eyes, for the last time. I just managed to catch the time. 9 o’clock.
Then, I died…
Death, his gaze as cold as the Arctic winter, was waiting for me. His cloak hid his face, so all I could see were his glowing red eyes. He had a scythe in one hand, and with the other he reached out and pulled off his cowl. It was Storm Boy! He held out his hand and beckoned for me to grab hold. And I did. I wasn’t afraid. Because I knew something only a few people would know.
Birds like me, we don’t really die.