Do you hear that?
The sound of the birds. They’re quietly humming outside, their wings spinning in circles as they look down on the miniscule huts. You’re running downstairs without flinching like you used to. You’ve been there so often. You’re trapped in that basement because there’s no escape, and you know it.
No? Hah! You’re definitely lying. I can tell.
You’re scared. You’re scared of what happened to your family, of how still they were while lying on your frozen body. You’re scared of the hum and how they come closer to you everyday. You’re scared of the stories that you hear: that they’d burn you, torture you, take out your still-beating heart, and watch as you writhed and your guts slowly poured out. You know they drop pain and create uncertainty: where do people go once the birds take them? You don’t want to find out.
But listen closer to the electric birds. Relish in their drone, their peaceful hum. Close your eyes and sway to the gentle music they create, and think: about Ma and Pa, about little Sami, about me. They’re not as scary as they sound, sister.
They’ll bring you home. I promise.