It was a dark day in the history of humankind. It heralded the oncoming of our destruction, our end. A metaphor for our recklessness and over indulgence in ourselves; our rampant ignorance to anything not us. It is day stamped forever in the buried recesses of our brain. We may not think about it all the time, but it strikes our minds irregularly.
It was seven in the morning but only because our watches said so.
From inside our houses, we saw orangish crimson streaks falling in our houses and on our streets irregularly. We checked our clocks. They said seven am. But the outside said seven pm. We got out of our beds, put on our glasses and slippers and cautiously, fearfully walked to some avenue of viewing the outside. Some of us went out the front door, some peeked from the delicate security of our glass windows, and some walked out onto their roofs.
It was a view to be behold by, bewildered at and never to be understood.
There were flocks of black birds, ravens, brewer’s blackbird, crows, great tailed Greckle. Anybody who has even seen these birds in a picture, especially the raven know how scary they are. Fully black and ferocious. Able to send a cold sweat from your head to your spine. TO see so many flying overhead, irregularly blocking the orange streaks of the sun. Blacking the sun away from us. It made us breathe heavily and sweat profusely.
Even though it had only been minutes since we had gotten up’ the day completely befuddled and scared us. We gulped and looked all around, to the neighbours we never even knew existed. We felt a dread because of the uncertainty. Had we known each other, being out of our houses and looking at each other would have given us some confidence. Some sense of comradery. But it didn’t. So we all stood in a collective feeling of dread at the situation.
We didn’t know what much else to do, so we stood staring at the sky before we all inevitably went back in. Nobody dared bringing out a gun and shoot at the birds. Out of fear of what would happen. We all went back in, huddled without families and acted as though it was just another day. Except instead of going back to our work or our mundane tasks, we stayed at home and talked to our families. We stayed till it passed.
As it passed, we realised how little we knew of ourselves and our family and our neighbourhood. As the day passed, that thought sent more shivers down our spine rather than the eerie beginning of the day we had. Which makes me think. Deep down, the only true things to be fearful of in this world are our own indulgences and our isolation from people. The only true monsters here are us. Us without attachment to things.
None of remember how the day ended. Eventually we forgot all about it when we were with our families and fell asleep normally. The next day we woke up to a sunny day and the previous morning seemed like a nightmare which never happened. The proof of its existence was the essence of the day which lingered on in us.
That day passed. It had to, I realise. It bewilders me, but that doesn’t matter.
We still haven’t worked it all out. Was it a mystical phenomenon? Or a meteorological one? The truth is however, we will most probably never know. Nor I believe should we. We should only know that it happened. The irregular orangish rays still hide in our minds somewhere, lighting up our deep buried feelings about that day and what it taught us.
Ever since Linkin Park’s Blackbirds was released, I always wanted to write a piece about it. This isn’t my interpretation of it, but inspired by the title.