When the blackbird sings, it’s beautifully painful. The chant itself is loud, clear and melodic. It’s also heavy. Charged with a handful of the darkness the blackbird carries within it. The darkness is in everything the blackbird touches and everywhere it goes. Its eyes have rightfully adjusted to the dark – and so has its heart. A darkness so overwhelming none could ever stop it, or even slow it down.
But there was this once upon a time, when the blackbird was flying towards nowhere, as it every so often does when it leaves its empty nest for a while. And in the midst of its foggy darkness, it saw a light, so bright it was almost blinding. Blinding, beautiful and charming.
The blackbird flew towards the light and realized where it was coming from – a fairly large lake filled with beautiful swans of all kinds, dancing and laughing. Some of them were singing a shy tune; not as sharp as the blackbird’s laments, but just as beautiful in its own peculiar way.
The blackbird approached the edge of the lake and saw the brightest of lights coming from one particular swan; she moved beautifully towards the blackbird and smiled at it.
“Would you care to join us, strange, strange bird?” she asked. The blackbird didn’t understand why such a marvelous creature could be bothered by its dreadful company.
“I can’t come any closer, pretty, pretty bird, for I cannot stand neither on the water nor the light for too long”, it replied.
The blackbird turned sad for a while, until the beautiful swan offered it a ride on her splendid feathers. “You can lean on me, I won’t let you drown”, she said.
The blackbird, although confused, accepted her invitation to join her flock on the lake and dance with them for a while. It wasn’t long before it realized it didn’t belong there – their song was too different from the one it was familiar with and their light was shining too bright. However, for a while, it felt nice leaving its darkness behind. So it stayed and danced, and talked and laughed with the swans. But then, the swan got tired of feeling the blackbird’s claws on its feathers and asked it to loosen up a bit. The blackbird was scared, but did it anyway. It was almost slipping into the water, and then it asked the swan to return it to firm land.
“I can’t stay in the water, pretty, pretty bird. Please, take me back to firm land”, it asked. The swan took it back to the edge of the lake where they met.
“Will I see you again, strange, strange bird? I do wish for your return”, said the swan. The blackbird also wished to return, but it knew it was too dangerous to spend so much time in the water.
“I’m afraid I’ll drown, pretty, pretty bird. I must stay on the edge of the lake. Would you come meet me here someday?” asked the blackbird.
“I don’t want to, strange, strange bird. You can keep holding onto me, I won’t let you drown.”
The blackbird went back to its dark nest, but it missed the swan so much. So much that it returned to the lake, and called for the swan. She seemed happy to see it, but she still wouldn’t go with it to firm land. The blackbird, then, hopped onto the swan once again and went with her to her flock.
Every day, the blackbird would go to the lake and begged the swan to step out of the lake for a while. And every day, the swan said no and promised she wouldn’t let the blackbird drown. And again, every day the blackbird would go with her, trusting she would keep it safe.
One day, the swan felt the blackbird’s claws bothering.
“You can fly, strange, strange bird. Why don’t you flap your wings and hoover just above the lake so you can stay close to me? You won’t drown this way!” Said the swan.
“I can, pretty, pretty bird. But this flapping is too tiring; I can’t fly like that for too long”, replied the blackbird. The swan insisted, claiming she didn’t want the blackbird to go; but she could also, no longer, carry it because of the grip of its claws.
The blackbird gave into her request and put all of its strength into flapping its wings just above water. Every once in a while, the blackbird would ask the swan to allow it to hold onto her for a few minutes, and every once in a while the swan would comply. But as time passed by, the swan became averse to the blackbird’s claws – and still wouldn’t join the blackbird on firm land, no matter how hard it asked.
After so much time flapping over the water, The blackbird could feel its body burning as it grasped for air, so it implored: “please, pretty, pretty bird; my wings are tired. Let me hold onto you, for just a little, little while.”
The swan allowed. And the blackbird rested on her back, and it felt alive once again; in that moment, it felt like her light wasn’t blinding, but hopeful. For a moment, the blackbird felt it could be welcome somewhere. It felt like home, and the blackbird didn’t want to ever let that feeling go.
The blackbird was afraid its grip on the swan’s feather would eventually hurt her, so it was trying not to hold on too tightly. But it started to slip. The blackbird began to panic, for it knew that once it was loose, it would drown. So the blackbird clawed its way back onto the swan, desperate for the feeling of warmth, for the feeling of home, and the swan… screamed.
“I can’t let you hold onto me any longer, strange, strange bird”, said the swan.
“Then step into firm land with me for a while, pretty swan, would you please?” begged the blackbird once more.
The swan, however, once again denied, and kept asking the blackbird to fly just above water. Once again, the blackbird flapped its wings to keep flying above the lake, close to the swan. And then, the blackbird’s wings were too tired from hoovering the lake all that time, and it could no longer catch its breath. The swan didn’t seem to notice and kept its dance with her fellow swans, swimming further and further away. Her light began to distant itself, and the blackbird flapped its wings even harder to try and follow it.
But then, came the fog. Slowly and painfully, it saw the swan’s light getting away from it, until it could no longer be seen at all. The darkness returned, with all its loneliness and suffocation. The blackbird was tired. Its wings could no longer hold it in the air. Gradually, the blackbird’s fly became slow. Each flap getting weaker, inaudible. The blackbird felt the water on its feet and it knew it was the end. And the blackbird let the end consume it. With one last flap of its wings, it rested on the water until its body could not even float. It sang one last time, a quiet and shy song in the hopes the swan would come back, but she never did. The shy song took out what was left of its last breath and, with no air in its lungs, the blackbird’s body sank deep into the lake, where it remains lifeless and cold, in the place it knew its soul has always belonged.
