Intrusion © March 1989 Jacquelene Martina. Told in 6 chapters, I create routine, to control it, but I get curious, and ask: What about an intrusion? Warning: Contains passages, some might find upsetting.
The bird lands a few feet away from her. It cautiously walks towards her. Remains still and pecks at the grass, as if searching for insects to feed on. She is still looking upwards. The smile still on her face. The bird moves closer, ever so cautious, it moves closer. Suddenly, it flies up a few feet of the ground, as if trying to catch her attention. The bird flies around her now, jumping some two feet into the air. It seems to be dancing around her. Dancing silently around her. It huge wings flapping with no sound. Covering her and it moves from her left to her right, to and fro. Suddenly, there is a wild shriek across the valley. The black bird fights to get rid of her grip. She holds on to its right wing, with only her right hand, not pulling, merely holding on, her right arm stretched out while she lies straight on her back, looking up. Black feathers fall silently onto her smiling face, unto the ground beside her, as the big bird flaps violently, tugs, screeches and tries to free itself. But she is bigger, she is stronger. Small drops of blood runs down the black feathers, unto her hand, unto the ground. The bird is now tired. It is fighting less ferociously now. Yes! It gives up. Its wing is broken. The bird can not fly anywhere! Exhausted, it drops heavily and awkwardly onto her body, as she drops her arm sideways to the ground. The bird attempts again to free itself, but can not as its wing is still held tightly in her grip. It lies on its left side, staring at her face. She still looks up. With one yank, she can turn it neck, and free me from it. With one yank! But she remains motionless, ever staring up to the blue sky. The huge bird lying still on her stomach, covering her almost completely, bleeding slowly on her. Hopefully, it will bleed to death. The bird attempts nothing, just lies there, waiting perhaps for her to move. She will, soon. The house awaits her, the vegetables and the cattle awaits her. By 4.30 tomorrow morning, she will up, taking a cold shower, having her coffee and going out on the field, even though she doesn't have to. She is to do this, the bird knows this. It is taking long, but is it soon to happen. Now! She jerks up in a panic, and the bird takes advantage of her weak moment and pulls away. The black feathers falling slowly down. The bird rests a few inches away from her, breathing anxiously, watching her. She is terrified at the sight of the big bird. She is terrified at the sight of blood on her hand. She kicks the bird farther away from her, not realising that the bird is hurt. She trembles at the sight of her blood on her hand. But it is not her own! It is not her own! And the blood will not disappear. The bird is attempting to get on its feet! It is attempting to escape. She must snap out of it. The bird is on its feet, it has it balance. As it knows it has nothing to fear from her, it walks towards the house. Why towards the house? Why not the woods, its refuge? The bird stops at the foot of the steps of the porch and squeals. It seems to be calling her! Finally, she turns round to meet the cries, only to see how the bird stretches both wings and fly up towards the woods. She does not appear to be troubled by this. The bird has managed to escape, even though its wing was broken! She takes her time, ere she gets up and heads for the house. At the bottom of the steps, where the bird had stood, there is a puddle of thick red blood. She stares at it.
'Don't you dare!' The old woman warns firmly. Startled, the girl pulls back her hand. 'You don't know what is means. Don't touch it. Come on into the house. You knew what you had to do, yet you declined to do so. It was not your blood.' There is anger in the old woman's voice, although she tries to conceal it. She takes the girl into the kitchen.
'Wash it off.' She commands the girl. The cold water runs down her hand, but the blood does not wash off.
'It has stained you. You are the first, you know. You are special. Even though you have been a disappointment, you are special. It has marked you. It knows you were eager to come. It is trying to make you weak. Don't be afraid of the blood. Remember, it is not yours.'
By 4.30 the following morning, the girl awakes. She has her shower and coffee and heads out for the barn to feed the cattle. At the foot of the steps the puddle of blood has disappeared. As she walks down the steps, she hears the high squeals. She looks up. The bird is flying circles over the house. She now knows what to do. She dashes back into the house and returns with the rifle. The bird still circles the house. It is difficult for her to get a good aim. The bird seems to be going in closer and closer, she holds up the rifle and is about to pull the trigger, when she feels the wetness around her leg. She looks down to find in her horror that she is standing in a big pool of thick blood. As she jumps out of the pool, she trips over two heaps of ashen sand and falls over. In a second, the bird lands on top of her. She is too frightened now to move. The rifle lies a few feet away, out of her reach. She utters a cry as the bird moves closer. Instead, it pecks in the dust beside her. She turns to see. Their features are clearly visible. Their agony is on what is left of their faces. She turns her head away in disgust. The old woman appears at her feet. But it is all over. The bird is gone, the pool of blood is gone, the heaps of ashen sand are gone. The old woman takes her into her arms. 'This is not where I wanted to be. I wish I had never come'. 'Don't say that. You wanted this.' 'Not this. I want to leave here.
'You know this is not possible.'
'I can not stay here. I know what it is here.'
'You can not go.'
'Then, I am like those men, and the others who never had it.'
The next morning, she awakes at 4.30, has her shower and coffee, and heads for the woods. The old woman stands in the doorway and watches her disappear among the thick trees.
FIVE
It has become an addiction. I need to place travellers into my realm. I need them to hand me that bird. I need them to assert my powers. I am still in control. I am staring at her. Watching her closely. Dawn is far. I know I am totally in control here. Nothing stands in my power. I find it so delightful how easy she is. How willingly she wants to come with me. She gives me no fight, no mouth, nothing. She is ready, she is eager. I will give her all. She will not want. But this is too easy. I fear she will fall a prey to it. I will end loosing her. I want to keep her. She is so willing, so adaptable. I don't want to loose her. I can't stop it. I won't stop it. She is now with me. She came in the early morning, the sun was just up. Smiling, gentle rays on her skin. She lies stretched out on the wet grass. Her short black hair now looks white. The many little drops of dew shines like silver in the soft light of the morning sun, on her hair, her skin. It is all quiet. Nothing disturbs her. She will awaken peacefully and with awe, she will take in the serenity around her. She is alone. It is better that way. I had to make a decision and she will not look twice at the two heaps of earth beside the house. The wind has not been able to blow the ashen dust away, no matter how I tried. The two heaps lie there. Yet she will not see faces, or bodies, arms or legs in the heap of ashen sand. She will ignore them. She will be ignorant of them. Soon she will awaken. By now, the sun has dried her. Slowly, she opens her eyes. She takes it in, slowly. She is enjoying the beauty of it all. She still lies on her back. Looking up into the blue sky. Her head turns slowly to her left, then back to her right. She closes her eyes again, and breathes deeply, in and out. She is content. She wants to lavish it all. She has now found peace. It is all quiet. Her eyes are open, and she still lies on the grass, looking up. Nothing will disturb her, she has no wants, no needs. She is fed, she is relieved. She is with Peace. As she looks up, she catches the black bird in sight. It circles straight above her. She doesn't have to turn her head to see it. Her eyes are fixed on it. She smiles. The bird circles and circles above her, coming nearer and nearer to her. She merely watches it, with a smile around her lips. Does she see beauty in it as well?The bird lands a few feet away from her. It cautiously walks towards her. Remains still and pecks at the grass, as if searching for insects to feed on. She is still looking upwards. The smile still on her face. The bird moves closer, ever so cautious, it moves closer. Suddenly, it flies up a few feet of the ground, as if trying to catch her attention. The bird flies around her now, jumping some two feet into the air. It seems to be dancing around her. Dancing silently around her. It huge wings flapping with no sound. Covering her and it moves from her left to her right, to and fro. Suddenly, there is a wild shriek across the valley. The black bird fights to get rid of her grip. She holds on to its right wing, with only her right hand, not pulling, merely holding on, her right arm stretched out while she lies straight on her back, looking up. Black feathers fall silently onto her smiling face, unto the ground beside her, as the big bird flaps violently, tugs, screeches and tries to free itself. But she is bigger, she is stronger. Small drops of blood runs down the black feathers, unto her hand, unto the ground. The bird is now tired. It is fighting less ferociously now. Yes! It gives up. Its wing is broken. The bird can not fly anywhere! Exhausted, it drops heavily and awkwardly onto her body, as she drops her arm sideways to the ground. The bird attempts again to free itself, but can not as its wing is still held tightly in her grip. It lies on its left side, staring at her face. She still looks up. With one yank, she can turn it neck, and free me from it. With one yank! But she remains motionless, ever staring up to the blue sky. The huge bird lying still on her stomach, covering her almost completely, bleeding slowly on her. Hopefully, it will bleed to death. The bird attempts nothing, just lies there, waiting perhaps for her to move. She will, soon. The house awaits her, the vegetables and the cattle awaits her. By 4.30 tomorrow morning, she will up, taking a cold shower, having her coffee and going out on the field, even though she doesn't have to. She is to do this, the bird knows this. It is taking long, but is it soon to happen. Now! She jerks up in a panic, and the bird takes advantage of her weak moment and pulls away. The black feathers falling slowly down. The bird rests a few inches away from her, breathing anxiously, watching her. She is terrified at the sight of the big bird. She is terrified at the sight of blood on her hand. She kicks the bird farther away from her, not realising that the bird is hurt. She trembles at the sight of her blood on her hand. But it is not her own! It is not her own! And the blood will not disappear. The bird is attempting to get on its feet! It is attempting to escape. She must snap out of it. The bird is on its feet, it has it balance. As it knows it has nothing to fear from her, it walks towards the house. Why towards the house? Why not the woods, its refuge? The bird stops at the foot of the steps of the porch and squeals. It seems to be calling her! Finally, she turns round to meet the cries, only to see how the bird stretches both wings and fly up towards the woods. She does not appear to be troubled by this. The bird has managed to escape, even though its wing was broken! She takes her time, ere she gets up and heads for the house. At the bottom of the steps, where the bird had stood, there is a puddle of thick red blood. She stares at it.
'Don't you dare!' The old woman warns firmly. Startled, the girl pulls back her hand. 'You don't know what is means. Don't touch it. Come on into the house. You knew what you had to do, yet you declined to do so. It was not your blood.' There is anger in the old woman's voice, although she tries to conceal it. She takes the girl into the kitchen.
'Wash it off.' She commands the girl. The cold water runs down her hand, but the blood does not wash off.
'It has stained you. You are the first, you know. You are special. Even though you have been a disappointment, you are special. It has marked you. It knows you were eager to come. It is trying to make you weak. Don't be afraid of the blood. Remember, it is not yours.'
By 4.30 the following morning, the girl awakes. She has her shower and coffee and heads out for the barn to feed the cattle. At the foot of the steps the puddle of blood has disappeared. As she walks down the steps, she hears the high squeals. She looks up. The bird is flying circles over the house. She now knows what to do. She dashes back into the house and returns with the rifle. The bird still circles the house. It is difficult for her to get a good aim. The bird seems to be going in closer and closer, she holds up the rifle and is about to pull the trigger, when she feels the wetness around her leg. She looks down to find in her horror that she is standing in a big pool of thick blood. As she jumps out of the pool, she trips over two heaps of ashen sand and falls over. In a second, the bird lands on top of her. She is too frightened now to move. The rifle lies a few feet away, out of her reach. She utters a cry as the bird moves closer. Instead, it pecks in the dust beside her. She turns to see. Their features are clearly visible. Their agony is on what is left of their faces. She turns her head away in disgust. The old woman appears at her feet. But it is all over. The bird is gone, the pool of blood is gone, the heaps of ashen sand are gone. The old woman takes her into her arms. 'This is not where I wanted to be. I wish I had never come'. 'Don't say that. You wanted this.' 'Not this. I want to leave here.
'You know this is not possible.'
'I can not stay here. I know what it is here.'
'You can not go.'
'Then, I am like those men, and the others who never had it.'
The next morning, she awakes at 4.30, has her shower and coffee, and heads for the woods. The old woman stands in the doorway and watches her disappear among the thick trees.