Behind Rusty Bars

It was Friday afternoon. The rain had just ceased and a dark cloud was hovering in the sky, a little ray of light slicing through the clouds signaling sunset. Amon walked along a street bustling with people, sidewalk vendors of various items, beggars and vehicles racing on the nearby road. His left hand balled beside the matchbox inside the pocket of his jacket while hiding a cigarette on his right hand.

His feet brought him to the gate of San Pedro Cathedral, where more physically challenged beggars, balloon vendors and stalls of saint replicas slowly packing their items. A fat, old woman on a wheel feeding pigeons with corn caught Amon’s attention. Her hair was short, it is more like a boy cut hair, and almost all white. She was wearing a floral dater while a red cellophane filled with corn sat on top of her lap, and she was holding a tin can on her hand, with meager coins, despite the fact that she’d been there all day. Her face wrinkled whenever she throw corn onto the wet pavement, cheerfully awaiting the pigeons to flock around the grains of corn scattered all over. There were a variety of pigeons flying all over, from black to gray to white, but they all had bloody red eyes. They were all soaked, maybe because the rain and some pigeons were shivering.

Amon walked closer to the pigeons. The flock of pigeons quickly dispersed and flew up to find some place to hide. The old woman on her wheel chair stared at Amon for about ten enduring seconds. Neither of them spoke a word. Her eyebrows curled and for ten full seconds she did not take her eyes away from Amon, nor blinked.

Then, Amon approached the old woman.

“It is the season of pangarol for the pigeons, the season for birds to change their feathers. This is also the time when the young feather is fragile and would easily break. Sometimes, the birds would accidentally break it themselves. When this happens, blood comes out in the stem of the feather due to the centrifugal force, and it terribly hurts the birds,” he said loudly. The old woman said nothing in return. Her eyes traveled from his head down to his rugged shoes.

“Go! Go! Go!” she yelled all of a sudden, and it stunned Amon. “Stay away from my pigeons! Can’t you see what they’re doing?! This is no time to disturb them with your nonsense!” Her shriek pierced through Amon’s eardrums.

Amon stepped back and decided to walk again. He was not ready to argue. Amon dreaded pigeons and birds in general. It infuriated him to see them fly above his head for no particular reason; also, they are pests in his grandfather’s rice field, they settle everywhere (and poop everywhere), even in airport runways which could eventually endanger the lives of the people riding the plane. And when they are weak, they will do nothing but crumble helplessly on the ground.

Amon sneaked in one of the closed stalls inside the compound of the church. He watched the old woman and her pigeons from a distance. He was terrified in the number of the pigeons living in the place. He wanted to drive them all away. Amon lit his cigarette, it was almost dark. He knew birds (except owl) have poor visions at night.

Amon picked some stones, but only chose one best stone, the rounded one. He sighed, and then took a deep breath. He knew he only had one shot. So he aimed to the pigeons which was the closest to the old woman, and threw the stone as hard as he could. Bang! All the pigeons flocked away in different directions, even his target.

The old woman lied unconscious on the ground. Blood from the back of her head spilled on the ground. Amon was shocked, and speechless. Vendors and bystanders in the place rushed towards Amon’s direction. He could not move, as if his feet were nailed on the ground.

Pak! A big fist landed on his nape and made him fall on his knees. Blag! Another bystander kicked his face. While he was lying on the ground, all he saw was faces of mad people and feet landing on his body. Then, he lost his consciousness.

Someone splashed an ice cold water on his face. Then, he woke up behind rusty bars and cold concrete floor. [741 words]

Tags: amon, behind rusty bars, edwin, Flash Fiction, pigeons, Prose, san pedro catedral