Not Long

• Tahryn Whately, Grade 11, All Saints College
• Short Story
• 2012

Excellence Award in the 'Legendary 2012' competition

The air was damp and musty. Any dust was settled, coating the walls and floor in a fine powder. It was dark – so dark that one left behind would loose all sense of direction in minutes… except where the underground stream had been revealed, carrying tiny, pin-points of light from the surface.
The walls were rough, ragged; the roof held up with wooden pillars that were rotted and flimsy from abuse.
The mine had been abandoned for weeks. There were no diamonds, gold, or precious gems – months of laboring had proved that. So; the miners pulled out, moving off to other potential sites of wealth.
Few things were left behind; a rusty shovel, a broken pick, stray nails and old water flasks. All were coated in dust and lay forgotten.
A few parts of the mine had caved in – rubble blocked the only exit, so any creature left behind… would stay behind.
Only one living being remained – an old canary. Its tiny cage, hanging above the underwater stream, was made of cold, biting steel – the only perch a matted stick.
The seed-dish was long since empty; even the husks devoured by the starving bird. When the seeds ran out, it moved onto its perch, hoping to attain some sort of relief from the wood. It had helped for a while. The water was near empty, thick with dust, feathers and grime.
The canary thrived when the mine was open. It sang for the miners every morning and evening. It was the look-out bird; if it dropped off its perch, the miners knew there could be poison in the air.
To the miners, the canary was good luck – they whistled along with its songs and gave it sweet, delicious fruits.
The canary’s feathers were once sleek and golden, its eyes bright and sparkling…

But now it was sick. Its feathers were matted and greasy, their colour dull. Its eyes no longer shone, and no music trilled from its beak.
It still chirped a few tones, calling for any being to free it, give it food, give it warmth… but none came.
It sneezed quietly, the dust filling its lungs making its breathing hard. It glanced at the shimmering lights in the water below, shining like stars. The water was clean, beautiful…
It shuffled on its half-eaten perch, ignoring the pain shuddering within it. It did not have long. It did not know what was after, “Not Long,” but… it hoped…
It lost its balance and toppled over, crashing to the cage floor. It lay where it fell, wings sprawled at odd angles; head resting on icy bars.
The canary breathed frantically, breast heaving. It glanced at the jagged rocks nearby; tiny lights from the stream reflected off it, shimmering patters of blue, aquamarine, turquoise, purple, green and silver over the rocks.
The canary shivered, taking a breath, and called out one last time, leaving a haunting, beautiful note ringing in mine. Then it closed its eyes.

“Not Long,” had come.