| Flames at Last |
| By Andrew Watson |
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http://andwat.blogspot.com/ |
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My life began with the piercing of my egg's outer shell. I became aware of the harder inner shell, and of what I was. I could not find the noise of the tool in my mother's memories. Perhaps such tools did not exist when she laid my egg in the tree. |
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What did the man want with the tree? What would he do with my branch? The thought that he might leave it to rot terrified me. To be trapped inside wood used for a shed, or for a chair, would be almost as vile. |
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The way in which he cut the wood gave me hope. But I quickly became hungry, and I knew that I must feed soon if I was to survive to lay eggs of my own. |
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My hope grew to certainty, and then to exultation, as I felt the flames, burst into them through my shell,... |
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... spread my wings, and fed. The man's name was Ben. His memories do not appreciate the honour of living on inside a tree-phoenix. |
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