Lunedì, 14 Giugno, 2004 | Posted by Lionel Gerkin at 14:17

I often catch the train to work. The Dance Factory is in a busy part of town where there is little or no car parking. I was walking to the station when I noticed it.

There was a small squeal that was coming from it as it fluttered madly. It was a bird. A sparrow that was badly wounded. It flapped its wings wildly. It was probably wondering why it couldn't get back up into the air. Up high where it belonged.

Imagine, being free one moment and totally helpless the next. Nothing ever prepares you for this kind of thing.

I stopped for a few seconds and then kept going. My train would almost be pulling into the station.

From behind I could hear the flapping, it was useless. There was a desperation that would continue until the poor bird was completely exhausted.

I have never done this, but I found myself walking back. I stood over the bird. I picked up a rock. I would kill it with one blow and that would be the end of it. I'd put the poor bugger out of its misery.

I looked around, I didn't know what anyone seeing me do this would actually think. I held the rock high, took special aim and let drop with all my might. I heard the thump of rock against body.

The bird flapped wildly.

It didn't want to let go of life.

I struck again. Again, there was the sound of a dead object striking life. I must have weighed a hundred times heavier than that bird, but the effect was the same.

Life is difficult to eradicate with one blow. It's doesn't die easily.

I took another deep breath. Again I lifted the rock and struck and struck and struck.

The flapping continued, and then subsided and then stopped. It stopped. Finally. Thank god.

I felt sick. I understood where the pit of my stomach was right then. I could feel it.

I had killed the bird. I had stopped its life. I hoped I had done the right thing. I hoped so from the pit of my stomach.