birdsong { lachlan + terra }

You used to be scared a lot, when you'd see the kids playing soldiers and the Peacekeepers playing killers. Back when the bombs blowing up the school, or the factories, or the neighborhoods were louder than everything else. It's like that down here, everything sounds like a bomb in the silence. The drop of water somewhere other than your cell, the footsteps of Peacekeepers swapping shifts, or even cries of another child. You need something softer, closer to human than machine. You don't even realize you're whistling until the lullaby's last few notes trickle from his lips.

Your soft fingers follow the lines of your cell, like a bird trapped in a cage. That's what they called you after the war: bird boy. All them other kids spitting and throwing mud. Cause it must be your fault that they lost the war. Don't count the dead family and the drunk Uncle. Don't count how y'all never even threw a punch. It's okay though, you think to yourself as you curl into a ball against the bars, you've always felt like a grounded bird anyway.

You're about to close your eyes and try to sleep against the hard ground when you hear it. Your eyes flutter open and like a curious pup in the kennel you peer out as much as you can from your cage. You can't tell where they come from, who they come from, but the two whistles are as clear to you as a beautiful red rose atop a vat of oil.

Friend?

You drop back away for a second, hesitation holding your throat. Since the war no ones wanted to be your friend. You're the freak. But... You quickly crawl back to the bars. They understand your song. It doesn't matter here, these whistles are your voice. Both of your voices.

You purse your lips gently as a short five note song known in Ten fills the air. Mama used to say they'd sing it in the factories after accidents. You don't even remember the words, but the message is what matters. 

Yes, are you okay?