You’re ten years old. You save some of your allowances and go to the pet store. A small bird catches your attention. He has plain, creamy white feathers and shines in the sunny window, especially compared to the dark-colored birds. You buy him seeds, berries, worms, fishes, and also a cage, a small cage.
You bring him home and see his wings are unclipped, his legs untied. Time for step one: clip his wings so he can’t fly away, tie his legs so he can’t run away, lock him in the cage. Dream up names, something like Charlemagne or Santiago. Glance at his bony body and think about how he was treated at the pet store. The owner probably didn’t give him enough food. Put a big bowl of worms inside his cage.
Days go by, and you notice he’s not eating much. Crush some worms and put them in a syringe, push the plunger, so the worms fly into your bird’s mouth. He tries to resist, but his efforts are useless. You wanted a chubby, cute bird, not a skinny one. Grab his neck, force him to finish the bowl of worms, as well as five syringes of water. Your bird chokes and throws up. Oh well.
An ad pops up when you’re surfing the Internet: “Have a talented bird? Join the Bird Contest!” Teach your bird tricks: how to speak and wave “Hello.” Get impatient, think your bird isn’t smart enough. Hit him with a syringe.
After that, teach him how to sing, a requirement for the Bird contest. Spend countless hours practicing, although his singing is not the best, strangely out of tune, almost a whine. Dye his feather your favorite colors, pink and yellow. Name him Pineapple Mango Rum.
On competition day, wake up early to get Pineapple Mango Rum ready. Go to the living room to see if he’s awake. Stand in front of the cage, speechless. What’s left inside is food residue, blood, some pink yellowish stain, and a frozen, still body. Check the pet camera and watch him vomit the food you fed him earlier. Watch him bang against the bars of the cage. Watch his wings get caught in the door.
Look at his still body, and his colorful wings, and imagine him up on the wall, just like how other people hang the deers’ and lions’ heads they killed on the wall. Clean the bloodstains off his body, get a frame, and some needles to hang him over the fireplace, like a piece of art.
Stare up at the wall, looking at his shape, colors, his opened eyes. You can’t take your eyes off your bird. If your mother walks into the room and asks you why the bird's on the wall, say, “I killed it.”
Although he's not inside the cage anymore, he's still in the frame, stuck forever where you can keep an eye on him.