The Firebird

• Paige Rennie, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2022

When Flora first found the bird huddled on her doorstep, she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. It was thin and sickly, with feathers falling from its skin and leaving large patches all around its body. It was about the size and shape of an adolescent crane, but the sparse plumage that clung to its skin were in dull shades of orange and red.
‘Oh you poor thing,’ Flora crooned, holding the creature gently in her arms. The bird warbled sadly and Flora felt a pang of sympathy for the animal. ‘You haven’t been well loved, have you? Don’t worry little one, I’ll take care of you.’
It took quite a long time for the bird, who she ended up naming Spark, to fully recover. During that time he had settled into a quiet comfort at her side. Flora continued to look after her aviary, politely declining when someone offered to purchase Spark. It hadn’t been hard for Flora to grow fond of the bird, and she knew she wouldn’t give him up for anything.
‘How much for that one?’ A rough voice asked one day. Flora looked up to find two men gesturing towards Spark, who was preening his feathers.
‘Oh, Spark isn’t for sale.’ Flora smiled gently.
‘We asked nicely, Miss.’ One of the men snapped, walking swiftly towards Spark and Flora’s friendly smile fell. ‘And we aren’t leavin’ today without it.’
Flora took a step towards Spark and glanced between him and the exit. The rough looking man was almost close enough to touch his feathers and Flora’s heartrate spiked.
‘That’s a Firebird, Miss,’ The other man said gruffly, grasping her wrist tightly and pulling her away. ‘It’ll fetch us a pretty penny.’
‘No!’ Flora cried, but she was pushed roughly to the ground. With her fall, she knocked the side of her head into the fireplace and blood began to blossom across her forehead.
At this, Spark began to screech, voice reaching an almost impossible volume and taking on an ethereal quality. The men stumbled back, holding their hands over their ears and crying out in pain. They backed away, fleeing the aviary with blood dripping down from their ears.
Once they were out of sight, Spark flew to Flora’s side, nudging her hair with his beak. Quietly, he began to cry, letting his tears fall onto the wound on Flora’s head and stitch the skin back together.
By the time she came to, whatever injuries she had were nothing more than a memory.
Flora, head spinning from the encounter, ran her hand through Spark’s feathers, earning a soft croon in response. ‘You’re more than I thought, aren’t you?’
It has been many years since Flora had taken the Firebird in. No one quite knew what had happened on the day the men came to take Spark away, but whispers flutter through the town. They warn outsiders not to cross the girl of the aviary, for she has gained the favour of something ancient and powerful, and those who displease either might never leave the same.