The Fisherman

Tackle Box
Pretty Feathers

Pretty Feathers Image Credit: Mantra Lotus

He ripped them off.  Plucked each turned feather..and ripped them off. Naked, and no longer able to sits; (she sits).  No longer beautiful, or priceless. Broken, shameful, and unwanted.

She once flew high..with bright magenta wings..Velvety blue crown with royal purple crest…soaring boundless, relentless, and elevated. Beautiful feathers she stretched wide. Proud for all to see.

While fishing he spotted the Rare, Radiant Beauty.  He vowed and made an adamant declaration,”I gotta have that bird.”  Arrogant and confident   “I WILL have that bird!”

She smiled from above delighted by the attention.

Everyday, he would go to the pond..with his bait, his sea-green tackle box and barely mended fishing rod.  He would pretend to be happily fishing.

Humming along with a cackling old radio.  He would bob his head and rock, smiling a toothy grin.

She thought him funny. “That noise is scaring the fish away, silly man”.

I’ll have to show him how it’s done.  She seductively flapped her wings, letting them drop softly, slightly tilting she drifted unto the pond water.   On the water she gracefully floated. Silently approaching her prey.  She bent her long beautiful neck and retrieved her jewel.

“Ah” replied the Fisherman.  Exquisite.   “Your beautiful.” he called out.

She fluffed her feathers in acknowledgement but quickly ascended.

High she flew. Gliding splendidly and free.

He watched her from below, with his hands relaxed behind his head, leaning back in his plastic lawn chair; entranced by her. He mentally recorded every movement. Memorizing every single part of her.  “I gotta have that bird”.

Everyday he returned..and everyday she taught him how to “properly” fish.

He soon started bringing gifts for her..that he would leave at the bank before his retire.

He would hide in the bushes to watch her response.  She would hop and dance with appeasement…

The Fisherman would pat himself on the back.

Eventually, he started putting the treats in his hand for her to come and get. She would dart fast but graceful to retrieve them then retreat back high.  But, gradually, she began to linger a bit longer.

One memorable evening, he mustered up the courage to touch her. So perfect she was to him.  So flawless, so religious, pious and magical. He tenderly reached out to her..She stiffened and prepared her defense (just in case) But, so gentle he was.. she grew weak and docile.

Affectionately he petted.  Devoting his attention to every feather.  He adored her; she knew it. She grew unafraid. She began to favor his touch and yearn for him every evening.  She anxiously waited for his return.

When he came to see her, he would instantly stretch out his hand…simultaneously she would come.  Quickly she flew, fluttered and descended.  Down to his hand she dropped.  Lowering her beautiful head..and he stroked her.  He would shiver; orgasmic.  She would sweetly fondle. Once it was over..she reluctantly flew away.

One day, he arrived.  He held out his hand and promptly she flew.  Instead, of caressing her with the opposite hand like before, he hurriedly covered her with a net. Wrapped her up in it and knotted the end.

Confused she fluttered..flapping hysterically, squawking and crying.

He gazed upon her, wet mouthed and flushed. Wide eyed he watched her struggle.  He then smiled and hushed her.  “Aww baby, it’ll be alright.  Just calm down, you’ll see.”

He grabbed the empty tackle box and the rest of his fruitless equipment and tossed it into the trunk while dangling her in the net. He eagerly placed her on the front seat beside him.

In horror, she watched.  His face now unfamiliar. Unrecognizable were his expressions. He bobbed his head to music, that she was deaf too.  He spoke of things she never heard of.

Frightened, she sunk and covered herself with her wings..  (only to discover that some of her wings had been lost in the struggle)..around her she saw pink fragments of what once was.

“We’re almost there baby.  YOUR Castle awaits!  I’ve been working on it ever since I met you.  You only deserve the best.  I know you’re gonna like’ll see.  Don’t worry. I’m gonna take good care of you” he said.

Once arrived..he nonchalantly yanked her out of the car..holding her up by the knot.  “Look, at it!  Isn’t it just perfect!”

She barely opened her eyes to view the monstrosity that he called a “Castle”.  A dark brown building with black bars on the windows..and the word “Castle” painted on the door.

She shrilled.  She flailed about..and begged to be taken back.  At no avail, he laughed.  “I didn’t know you were this feisty. I like it.”  Quiet she shuddered.

The inside was just as dreary as the out.  Very dimly lit with low ceilings. In the center of the room was a white metal cage.  He unloosed her and threw her in.  “You sit her for a while..until you calm down.  Are you hungry?”  (she answered  not)

“Is it warm enough for you?  Is it comfy?”  (she answered not)

Enraged, he began to pound the bars of the cage with his fist. He shook and rattled the sides..shaking her within.  “Did you hear me Birdy?!  I asked you a question? ARE…YOU…COMFY?! ” Yes! she shrieked.

“Well, alrighty then” he said. Snickering and mocking her.

For the next couple of days, he kept consistent watch of  her in the cage.  Studying her.  Admiring her.  Wanting her. Laughing at her.  Mocking her.  Intimidating her and breaking her.

She grew tired and hungry.  Lost and confused. It didn’t take long for her to give up.  She submitted fully.

During the day, he kept her caged up. At night he would let her out, but always tethered by her ankle .  She would fly into the ceiling, crash into the walls and windows. He would chuckle “Silly Bird”.

Sometimes, he would tie her to the bed posts and parade her from room to room.  Sometimes, he would force her to flutter her open them wide, wiggle them and dance for him.  “Show me your pretty colors” he would demand..(she would)

Anything he asked of her, she did.

Her colors began to fade. She was never allowed sunlight and never allowed to fly. Tragically, she soon forgot how.

Her feathers became thin and before long she turned completely gray.  Engrossed by her appearance and her lack of beauty the Fisherman resented her.  He resented her cage “in his space”.  He hated the rustle of her feathers.  He teased and mocked her.  Demeaned and beat her.  Belittled and torn she hid day-to-day, tucked in the corner of her cage.

Until, one day he left with the all too familiar sea-green tackle box, bent fishing rod, bait, and busted radio.

He taped a ripped note to her cage that read:

“Gone fishing.. (YOU) be gone when I come back”.

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