III

Soaring across town, there two siblings arguing with each other. Their names were Phoebe and Demian. It didn’t matter the subject; it was how they got along. Mere trifles sparked the most inane arguments. Yet, they couldn’t imagine their relationship in any other way. One day, it was about who deserves the biggest piece of carrion. Next day, who would perch on the most majestic branch in a tree, and so on. There was no compromise. No negotiating. Quarrelling was an essential factor of their bond.

Phoebe was carefree and happy-go-lucky, up to a fault. No matter how dire the situation, she kept a positive attitude. A sanguine viewpoint through and through. She didn’t bother to worry about the future. She also didn’t care about learning anything from the past. As such, she lived for the present. She loved her little bubble of ignorant bliss.

Demian was pure gloom and brood. Positive thoughts left his brain long time ago. He saw a problem in everything, everyone and every situation. Today’s food? Spoiled, too chewy, too bland, you name it. Every branch was inadequate. Too short. Too thick. Too sinewy. He also spent most of the time brooding about the fate of her sister. How stupid she was for being happy all the time. He was always concerned about any and all aspects of living. Pessimism shaped his very being.

Demian took pity on Phoebe. Her stupidity would lead to her death were he not at her side. He fancied himself her protector. Her voice of reason. Her conscience. Her eyes, for she was blind, in his mind. Blind to the harshness of reality. As much as they argue, he couldn’t abandon her. He had to be there, for her sake.

With her forced, high pitch, cute chirp-like crow caw, Phoebe tried to calm Demian down. They were trying to decide where to perch themselves. A commotion was going on and they didn’t want to miss a thing. Yet they couldn’t agree where to land. They could land close and peek inside the bar. The alternative was to stay outside and hope for scraps from the sloppy patrons.

And so the argument began.

Phoebe made her case. “I’m curious, brother”, she cawed. “Humans are always up to such interesting things!”, she blurted out without care. “Let’s shorten the distance and overhear them!”, which seemed reasonable until Demian retorted.

“Are you out of your mind?”, screeched Demian, in that ever familiar tone Phoebe knew and withstood. “Humans are nothing but trouble, their only worth is the food they leave behind”, he declared. “Keeping our distance is for the best, lest we embrace their ways”, and started flying off.

A huge crowd, hollering and shouting about becoming royalty interrupted their argument. From children to the elderly, everyone had something to say. They’re shouting, gossiping, and rambling about tonight’s event at the castle courtyard. Everyone wanted to look, feel and, one would hope, smell their best for the occasion. You had to pay scant attention to get every detail from the royal proclamation. It was the talk of the town.

All this fuss about the crown and heirship made Phoebe euphoric. The fame. The popularity. The mightiest, most imposing trees anywhere in the land. A vast cage shaped as a castle. The possibilities were endless. In her mind, being heiress would mean she’d no longer have to put any effort in living. “Life served on a silver platter,” she thought.

Demian didn’t understand why everyone wanted to punish themselves by becoming the successor. Endless responsibilities. Countless conflicts to resolve. A myriad of nincompoops to lead. The consequences of your action affecting so many lives. “Being a leader is the worst punishment imaginable”, he concluded.

Despite their conflicting views on the matter, they made a truce. They decided to attend the event and know what is it all about. In the worst case scenario, Phoebe would mingle with high society. For Demian, food worth eating is enough of a reward. Either way, they both began their journey towards the castle courtyard.

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One thought on “III

  1. Pingback: Chapter III uploaded – Writer's Block Repository

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