On the Hills of Eden

The little girl snuck through the empty corridor, slinking her way from shadow to shadow as the whistles and creaks of the factory floor behind her faded away. The candle-lit ceiling lights above her were weak, struggling to barely even illuminate the way. Their tiny flames danced as best they could, burning down their wicks as they fluttered away in the clutches of their iron cages. They were so weak in fact, that if not for the fact that the air was still as death, they'd have gone out a long time ago.

Eventually she made her way back to her office, a secluded room she denied most access to. Shutting the door quietly behind her, she made her way to the plush sofa placed below a window to the outside. It was the only thing in the room she ever actually enjoyed using, with everything else from the cruelly sharp coffee table to the unyieldingly sturdy chair to the dusty old books with tiny letters scrawled within them holding absolutely no appeal to her. She was tired, and the comforting embrace of the warm sky-kissed sofa was the only thing she could rely on for reprieve.

Sighing as she bundled the wing feathers on her back together before lying down, she let her eyes wander across the drab, barren ceiling in thoughtless perusal. And by her feet, stood atop a brutal iron pole permanently stained an abyssal black even in the window light, was a little birdcage.

A birdcage that wasn’t there before.

Intrigued, she sat upright, scooting over to inspect the unprovoked new addition to her recluse. The cage itself was small, about the volume of two of her heads and framed somewhat redeemingly with a bright yellow ribbon. At its base was a plaque, on which the words, “With Love, from Mummy” were stamped in with the lifeless uniformity of Oldenburg's printing press’ block letters. Below those words still were more letters engraved in gold, rather proudly proclaiming the bird encaged within to be a songbird.

Looking inside, she could see it perched within. It was small and unassuming, its silhouette nearly a perfect circle were it not for its beak and tail. Its belly was a cloth-like white, and its back a pleasant olive-green. Most interestingly of all, though, was the streak of black that ran above its crimson red eyes that almost made it look as though it were judging her as she eyed it curiosly. Below its perch, the girl could see that an envelope had been left, its seal she recognised as her mother’s having been stamped down to trap a little half-wilted daisy.

Gingerly, she opened the birdcage’s door, dodging as the little songbird flew out and zipped across the room haphazardly before settling on the bookshelf opposite the sofa. Reaching in, she fished the quaint little envelope from the birdcage, peeling off the seal and setting the long dead flower aside before retrieving the letter contained within.

Settling back down on the sofa, the songbird chirping occasionally in the silence, the little girl got to reading.

Dearest Lauka,

I miss you very much, dear. I promise I’ll come to visit sometime very soon, Mummy’s just busy with your little siblings. Always so loud and rowdy, not like you. You were always so well-behaved and smart, Lauka. Always such a pleasure to talk to. When Mummy comes to visit you she’ll make sure she brings lots more presents and we can talk until the sky goes dark.

For now, Mummy’s got you this little gift, a Songbird that will sing you to sleep just like Mummy used to.

I’m so proud of you Lauka, my little scholar.

See you very soon,

Mummy

…

The little girl collapsed back down onto the sofa, the voice of her mother in her head slowly fading back to memory as she held the letter to her heart. She breathed slowly, feeling the paper against her chest as it rose and fell, a rhythmic pulsation that reminded her all too well of the thumping of the steam-powered machinery outside.

She pulled herself from the sofa, setting the letter down next to its envelope on the coffee table. She sat in her silence for a while, staring blankly at the dull browns of the wooden carpet-less floor, until the songbird’s chirping broke the silence again. She looked up at the little critter, so petite she thought she could fit the entire thing in her little hands.

And she kept on looking at it, her eyes wandering occasionally to survey the dull interior decor of the office as she did so.

This wouldn’t do.

She shifted around on the sofa, getting up to her knees as she reached for the window’s handle. She tried turning it to unlock the window, though the cold steel gave no purchase. She could feel the resistance every time she strained her arms in futility. Determined, though, she braced her body, planting her feet against the floor and the sofa as she straightened her body out.

Now, as she heaved, the chain of muscular energy that even she could muster from her feet to her hips to her chest and arms forced itself against the window’s handle, edging it bit by bit until finally it spun open. Tumbling a little from the sudden looseness of the handle, she squared herself again, placing her hands against the glowing frosted white of the window.

Feeling the coolness of the glass against her palms, she pushed the window’s hinges even as they cried out in protest. She forced it open with one last great heave, pausing afterwards to feel the cold wind rushing in to greet her. Her breathing now slightly heavy, she sat back to survey her work.

Just outside, she saw the glory of the serene afternoon outdoors, split down the middle by the river Haara into the Plains of the Corridor up north and the Houzeni Forests down south. The sight stunned her momentarily, her eyes bedazzled by the brilliance of the outside so radiant it seemed as though the very air had been lit ablaze by hope and freedom.

As the refreshing breeze circulated through her room, blowing in and out of her hair, she turned back to look at the perplexed songbird.

“You can go now,” she said.

And the songbird took off.

In silence, the little girl watched as the tiny bird flew away into the open, disappearing into the forests before she could even blink- free to go wherever it wished.

It was not long before she heard footsteps outside of her room, and she knew she would have to go soon too.