The Noble Seagull – Flash Fiction

Written by M. Taggart

Fiction:  This short story is much about unconscious societal behavior.

Copyright 2015 by Matt Taggart, aka -M. Taggart

The Noble Seagull

The sand was hottest when his feet left the shelter of his beach towel.  He placed his toes in the sand to feel its sting.  The sun was high and bruising.  His mother had lathered him with sunscreen lotion.  He smelled like a hospital room.  His mother was sitting in a beach chair next to him.  She was on her phone talking to her sister.  Her voice arched upward when needing to alert her sister just how much she understood.

He watched a grey and white seagull walk toward a bag of chips not far from him.  The bag was left open by a family that had gone to swim and be in the waves.  The seagull had a large puffed-out chest and dark flecks of color around its eyes.  It was a large bird.  He liked the bird and noticed the size of its webbed feet.  Its feet look very sure of each step even if its eyes did not.  He wanted to ask his mother what seagull feet were called but she was still on the phone.

Now other seagulls were flying overhead and squawking at the one below.  He watched as they circled and then dove down.  His bird flapped its wings at the approaching competition.  It was as though he were watching a dance.  Though, he knew this dance wasn’t an ordinary dance.  If the family came back, they’d surely chase the seagull away and he wouldn’t eat the chips.  If another bird pushed him away then his bird would need to find another bag and start the process over.  Just now his bird strained his neck and opened his large wings while he pulled a number of chips from the bag.  The seagull snapped at the chips and they were quickly gone.  Its darting eyes now found a number of his brethren had landed near him and were coming closer with agitated motions.

The boy looked from the mass of seagulls surrounding the bag of chips to other families lying on spread out blankets and beach chairs.  Each family had brought food.  Some of the food was kept cool in plastic coolers with ice in them.  Others brought food in plastic bags that didn’t need to be cooled.  Near the sand dunes were overflowing metal trash barrels.  Seagulls were pulling at the plastic bags to break rotting food loose.  People ran and jumped into the ocean and smiled while splashing one another.  Fathers asked daughters to come out deeper where the big waves were.  Mothers dared their sons to pick up seaweed and wear it on their heads.  The seagulls walked and flew in between them all.

His seagull flapped its wings and charged another while squawking then dashed quickly back and clasped the end of the bag then lifted; each remaining chip now lay in the sand.  A great chorus of squealing birds erupted.  The boy thought he read sadness in the bird’s eyes. A strong sea wind flipped a number of the noble seagull’s feathers backward.  The onslaught was too much for any one bird to defend.  He snatched a few large chips and took flight.  He watched the seagull soar into the air and wanted to know where it would go.  He thought the bird flew with dignity and he hoped he would live a long life and not become too cold during winter.   The bird flew near the overflowing metal trash barrels and then over the top of the wooden steps leading to the beach bathrooms and then was gone.

A thrashing took place over the upturned bag of chips.  Only a few oily crumbs were left in the sand.  The birds fought over the empty bag.

‘Get out of here!  Nasty sky-rats!’ his mother shouted.  She held her phone away as not to yell loudly in her sister’s ear.  ‘Honey, those are nasty birds.  They are scum.  Get up and chase them away.’ His mother went back to talking with her sister.  She hadn’t known he made a new friend.  She didn’t realize he thought his bird was noble and walked with sure steps.  He didn’t ask what the seagulls webbed feet were called.

 

(Note: I’m considering a second chapter.  Feedback would be appreciated.)

If you enjoyed this short story you might also enjoy my self published short story found via the link below.

Color of a Son

To my unborn son. I have a few things I need to tell you. Soon you’ll be here and then you’ll grow to be a man. You’ll make your own decisions based on your own thoughts. Listen. There are good people and there are bad people. There are even evil people. But know this- The color of the skin does not wear the character within.

Strength of character is a mighty thing. At times you’ll see a child teaching an adult what kindness means. Don’t let this moment elapse without truly seeing. Black, white, red, yellow; this means nothing. Hate, greed, abuse, control for power- all will be forced onto you through out your life. It’ll be up to you to identify and see the true agenda behind each. If we could put a color to these, or place emblems on foreheads, we’d all learn quickly. Color of ones skin does not wear the character within. Love, support, bonding emotions, creating loyalty through kindness and well being. These would be beautiful colors to wear on any skin.

When you lay your head to rest you may replay voices saying otherwise. You’ll remember. -You will witness people harming others for the sake of harming. This is evil. If a white man harms a child; this is evil. If a black man harms a child; this is evil. If you see a black man hugging a child; this is love. If you see a black man hugging his white wife; this is love. If you see a white man hit his wife; this is evil and I ask that you not stand and watch. I ask that you help the wife. Do not turn your back. I say this so simply because we’ve seemingly forgotten how to communicate well in our society. I don’t want to make that mistake with you. It’s too important.

Professionals don’t exist, individuals do. It will be your cross to bear. To truly see.

You may find tears rolling down your cheeks because a mother turned her back on her child. The child wanted to be picked up and raised their arms to their mother. The mother turned her back and you don’t understand why and you cry.  You wiped your tears and you walked to the child and you picked the child up and you hugged the child. -We back up and watch. We the people. Now we crowd around and wonder why you did that, and now we cry. We cry because we’ve seen a stranger cross the boundary we’ve accidentally created in our society. A boundary which hurls us to distancing ourselves from helping to heal our people. We cry because we witness your strength of character and we wished we had it too.

I cry because you will be here soon. I cry because I feel what you mean to me and I fear I’ll fail to explain properly. I can only hope you truly see when you look at me. I’m not perfect. I’m perfectly me. I love you.