Miss. Idaho walked onto the stage like she owned it. Raising her arms to boisterous applause, the contest favorite whooped and clapped. "I have a story for all you trad trophy stay-at-home-girlfriend ladies and corporate gents humping your boss' legs!" she called. The applause petered away as quickly as it had started. Unfazed, Miss. Idaho began her tale.

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Way back when the earth was young, there were two fledgling chicks, barely bigger than my thumb, who took flight from their childhood nest together. They flapped their little wings with all the strength they could muster, but still they tumbled to the ground. Again and again they tried to take to the air, moving only a few meters each time before falling back to earth, and their beaks trembled with exhaustion by the time the sun had set. In the darkness, the smaller of the two lost track of his brother and, overwhelmed by the looming loneliness he’d never before experienced, opened his beak to call for help.

His desperate plea fell upon the ears of a nearby human, who rushed out and scooped the baby bird into her hands. “Oh, what a beautiful voice! I shall treasure you forever,” she swooned. His brother watched, helpless, as the human swept her brother out of the forest.

As the weeks passed, the bigger bird struggled throughout the entire forest, trying to find where his brother had been taken. As time passed, his little body grew stronger and his wings grew larger, until he was able to screen the entire forest from upon high and pinpoint the woman’s house. Floating down, he landed to see his brother sitting, fluffy and clean, in a little golden cage. “Brother, I’ve come for you!” he cried. “When the woman comes to clean your cage, fly out, and we’ll escape together into the forest!”

“Oh, but brother, if only you knew!” the smaller bird chirped. “Life is so wondrous in a cage. I’m protected from the raptors high in the sky and the cold seeping from the earth. I eat like a king and laze my days away, and all Lauren asks of me is my beautiful voice. Sing for her, brother, and we could live with the dignity of eagles for the rest of our lives!”

“Eagles don’t dangle from windows in little golden cages,” the larger bird said sadly. “I will return for you when you’ve grown from your childhood ignorance.”

True to his word, he returned the following spring, wiry and battle-scarred. “Brother, come with me,” he pleaded again. “I’ve got a fine nest you can recover your strength in, and a fine flock of chicks who want to meet their uncle. It’s not too late, brother.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Oh, but it is,” the smaller bird replied, reclining on his plush perch. He had grown yet smaller than his brother, although he was a great deal rounder. “I have traveled on my Lauren’s shoulder to the finest galas in the kingdom, to deserts and icy tundras and lush rainforests you could never imagine. I’ve sung for kings and priests, my brother! Look at you, scarred and scrawny–who will sing your name once you’re gone? Offer up your beautiful voice besides mine, and you’ll never need to suffer again.”

“You’d have me abandon my family,” his brother said with a defeated sigh. “I’ll return again, once old age has imbued you with wisdom.”

True to his word, he returned three springs later, flanked by his two oldest grandsons. He was wizened and missing a talon, but his eyes were bright. “Well, brother?” he called. “Will you come with me, and live out your golden years among your grand-nieces and nephews?”

“My poor brother,” the smaller bird responded, ruffling wings frail with disuse. He was so plump and well-groomed that one could mistake him for a bird half as young, if only he weren’t betrayed by the rasp rotting his voice. “Live out my golden years, amid maggots and dirt and a sky full of predators? What, do you wish me dead? Why should we toil over swamps for flies when we could have our every whim catered to in exchange for the music of our beautiful voices–”

He fell silent, beady eyes widening.

“Our beautiful voices?” the larger bird whispered. “Sing for me, brother.”

The smaller bird opened his beak, but only a squawk emerged. He tried again and again, sending nearby songbirds scattering. Finally, he retreated into his corner, trembling. “Save me, brother,” he whispered.

“I’m just a bird. I cannot open cages. You need to fly when she opens your cage next,” his brother urged. But the smaller bird shook his head, eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t think I’m strong enough.” He tucked himself into his wings. “I have sung for her faithfully for four years. Surely she’ll forgive me for my inabilities. Perhaps she could find use for me as a…as a….” he trailed off, shrinking into himself.

“I’ll return with an army of my grandchildren, when they’ve grown strong,” his brother promised. But when the forest grew golden under the autumn sun and the flock finally arrived at Lauren’s cabin, no trace of the cage or the bird within was left.

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