This painting has been in my house for years and it’s blurred into the background- I almost don’t see it anymore. But today I looked at it in a new light- it could be my story trigger!
The flying eyes can be deadly and watch out for their fight whistle, my mum tells me after dinner.
I ask for seconds. She gags into my beak for a while, but she can’t bring up anything. She tells me I’ll have to start collecting for the smaller ones. She can barely find enough food for me as it is. Her wing is hurt and she can’t fly far enough. I look around the nest at my unhatched siblings.
A week later my siblings emerge and I know it is time. Gliding around is wonderful, I take a dip through the clouds. As I emerge, I see an eye ahead and hear the whistling. I fly beneath the cover of clouds for a while hoping to get rid of it. A moment later the whistling gets louder and it flies straight through the cloud nearly knocking me over. It slows and begins to dig in the cloud as if it is earth revealing a nest. There are tiny eyes in it that remind me of my siblings.
They open their mouths and blow at the big ones belly, now I can see it is filled with tiny tubes that make noise when the wind passes through them. The big one unloads some food from it’s arm and the little ones eat. It looks delicious, I sigh, wishing I had some. Suddenly they all look at me. The big one speaks.
Are you hungry?
Yes
Then take some, fellow eye. There is more below in the valley, I can show you where to go.
I’m not an eye, I’m a bird.
That whistle you made just now, it sounded like a call.
I sigh again.
That’s it. You’re a natural.
Why do you whistle? I thought it was a fight call.
Because we are blind. We find each other by the whistle our bodies make as we fly. The eye is just there to keep predators away.
She shows me the best place for food and my family is never hungry again.
freyawrightbrough 