Swing and a Myth

The man lay stretched out on the jutting rock, bronze chains dangling from his wrists. In the distance, the sinking island glowed magma-red and deep orange in the sunset. Wreckage floated by. There was a soft whoosh and some slight scrabbling. The man opened one eye. There was a bird – quite a large bird, all things considered; regal, even – with a very sharp beak.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ he said, wearily.

The bird swivelled in the direction of the sinking island, the plumes of volcanic smoke and steam, and then back at the man, apparently the heroic type, clothes in rags, shirt half gone – practically mythic, really. ‘Well,’ said the bird, ‘you look like you might have done something. And look at it this way, no way off this rock, no ships for miles – you could look at it as a kindness, really.’

‘Thanks, all the same, but I prefer a liver-and-let-live approach.’

The bird sniffed. ‘Suit yourself. Here, are you sure you didn’t annoy any semi-divine beings or anything?’

‘Not the kind you’re thinking of,’ said the man, with assurance.

The bird sighed. ‘Just my luck.’

‘I know how you feel,’ said the man, smiling ruefully.

‘Big place, this was. We’re not going to get in any trouble, are we? You know, land slipping beneath the waves – I mean we’re talking, geographically speaking, in continents.’

The man pointed to some sails on the far horizon. ‘If anyone’s going to complain, they’re the last of them. Lucky they didn’t find me.’ He considered the size of the bird.

‘Forget it,’ said the bird, ‘I don’t give lifts. What do I look like, a taxi service?’

‘Oh, it’s just there was this girl …’

‘Ah,’ said the bird sagely. He could tell tragic parting when he saw it. You saw this sort of thing a surprising lot in storied times. He shuffled awkwardly. ‘Still,’ he said, trying to think how to put it delicately, ‘I can’t help but noticing that you are here and she, not casting any aspersions,’ he added hastily, ‘nor to put too fine a point on it, is not.’ He expected the man to get agitated at this point. Probably not good for the liver, but you’ve got to be human sometimes, haven’t you?

Instead, he just sighed, and closed his eyes. With the impressive amount of heat whoofing over from all the lava, all that seawater ought to have dried off by now, but still, some trailed down his cheek. Ah, well, not long now, probably …

He took off with a whuffle of feathers.

‘There you are!’

The man opened his eyes. Clambering up the rocks was the most beautiful girl in the world. To him, anyway. ‘So this is what heaven looks like …’ he said, as his eyes drifted shut again.

Someone shook him quite hard, considering. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ He was aware of being held on to so tightly he thought his remaining ribs would break. He opened his eyes again. A face looked down at his. Then again, maybe heaven could wait…

As the bird rode the air currents into the sunset, he looked back with a small smile. Okay, so sometimes you may be left a bit peckish, but you felt warm inside. That had to count for something, didn’t it?