.::A Clarion Call::. [Danny]

Xavier Xart

Life goes to those that are true
The regular news
Over playing the blues
With the light on

I keep to the trees that look sturdier than the rest. You see, I’ve been tracking the Summer Tanager for some time now, seeing its bright color and plumage is like that of the setting sun—absolutely magnificent, and a rare sight to be seen in these parts. I’ve had enough the loons and the coots—birds that are altogether common and colors so uninteresting I just can’t be bothered—and now I’ve settled on the Tanager for my prize. It’s been three months, four days, and six hours since I set out on the task—every time I get a break from the logging depot I go out to the forests, and sometimes on the job too to see if there’s a chance I can spot this delightful darling of the woods. Unfortunately I haven’t yet been able to catch him—he is as elusive as a diamond, never seen and quite removed from us here.

My friends have said that I’m a bit off of my rocker, going out in search of birds that aren’t all that important. They’d rather be spending time smoking cigarettes or singing or dancing or whatever it is that kids my age are supposed to be doing nowadays. Not that I’m going to be a kid much longer, anyway. I’ve got one more reaping before I head out into the great unknown—or adulthood as I like to call it—and I get to do the things that I want for whatever reason it is that I can come up with. I like to think of reasons for what I do, anyway—not that I have a lot of people to tell. There is my older brother and my younger brother, or my mother and father. I could count my friends on my fingers—it’s a much smaller number than the number of bird sightings I’ve had, to say the least.

Today I’ve ambled on through the woods, through the thickest deciduous region. It’s where the trees grow thick limbs and long branches. I hungrily grasp at the base of an oak and grab at one of the ridges. I hoist my way upwards, finding the holes to carry my feet. I groan in effort—it is no small task to make one’s way up a tree, especially when I don’t have the greatest arm strength—and begin my march upward. It’s one story, then two, and then maybe up a third—as much as forty feet now—until I stop on a limb that seem more or less sturdy. I let out a gasp as I look out across the woods, taking in the beauty of the slow and still morning.

An expanse of mountains shows in the distance, and row after row of treetops poke overhead. To my back are the brambling towns and scattering of light and life. To my front is the future, it is the powerful image of land unscathed. Though we rush to cut it down—to provide the furniture, the paper, the whose-its and whats-its for the capitol—I can hear the call of life. A loon lets out a cry, and there’s a flap of wings, signaling the presence of (perhaps) my prey. I grasp at my glory—the one thing my parents and siblings have gotten me for my birthday this past year—a pair of binoculars. I glance out, focusing in on the sound of wings, only to see the brown of a yellow rail in the distance. I let out a sigh and lean back.

It’s not that I’m impatient. In fact, I quite like the days when I can spend whole hours off by myself, listening to the world as it pulses and saying nothing. There are those that would be bored, or even pull at their hair because there isn’t a soul around. But I enjoy the time when I can spend with just nature, when I can just think about the world as it is, rather than have to be a part of it. I’m not afraid to be a part of it… it just seems as though it’s easier to not take part. There’s so much evil, and hatred, and disgusting choices, too. Why on earth would I want to have to lend myself too much to a world where there’s no mercy for any of us?

Even now, after the games have passed and the victor has been crowned, the none of us are pleased at the results for our district. We’ve gone so long without a victor it’s beginning to look as though it is hopeless for us. Jana Hale came closest, a bright young thing that I’d seen around these parts—only to be struck down by a disgusting creation of the capitol. Curtis did as well as he could, but he had no hope against the career that won it all. It makes me think I’d rather not watch the games, and would rather hold off in my own little world. Why care about the blood that’s shed, if I’ve got no idea who’s it is and what their story is. I can feel a lot less if I’m ignorant of what’s going on.

A thrush of wind makes me scramble—a high pitched squeak not far from me, and I press along the branches. I remove my binoculars from my neck and hold them out to see—the fiery red of my prize. I let out a joyous yelp—how long have I waited to just see its beauty—and give a grin. It’s wonders like this that help me keep going. The feeling of the morning sun on my face, the beauty of the bird in front of me, the slow and haunting feeling of the branch as it begins to snap underneath of me—as it begins to snap underneath of me?!

Because I am a fool.

I fall forwards, fast down towards the next row of branches, crashing with a sound that sends a pack of birds flying and scraping across my back. I’m sturdy here, but the thwack against the branch causes me to lose grip on my binoculars. And in what seems like slow motion, they slip out of my grasp and between the twigs of the oak, down towards the leafy ground below. They land with a thud, and I close my eyes, not wanting to hear the sound as it reverberates throughout the forest.