Life in a small town is disrupted when a special bird disappears Once there was a town named Schnitzelberg, and every morning a bird would fly over the town singing a four-note song. The bird was soon named after the town; everyone called it the Schnitzelbird. Not one person through the whole town of Schnitzelberg had an alarm clock. The bird woke them up every day, and everyone loved it. That is, everyone except Jack. Jack was a middle-aged man who loved his sleep. He thought the bird woke up much too early every morning and that the people of Schnitzelberg might feel better if they slept more. So he devised a plan. The next morning, when the Schnitzelbird came around for its wake-up call, he caught it and put it into a cage. “Oh, don’t complain,” said Jack to the bird. “It’s your fault you wake up so early. My people will be happy to have their sleep, you’ll see.” But everyone woke up late that morning. “Mommy, where is the Schnitzelbird?” A little girl asked, clutching her mother’s arm. “I’m late to school!” “Oh darling, I’m sure the bird will come back tomorrow—probably just needed its sleep. It must be exhausted flying around like that every morning.” Murmurs like that were heard all over the town. Everyone was telling their kid that it was going to be ok, that the bird would probably be back tomorrow, but worry was spread across all of their faces nonetheless. “They’ll thank me soon,” Jack muttered. “Just let them see how life can be without that bird.” After work, Jack was back in his room eating his dinner, and the bird started shaking the bars. “Oh, calm down, you!” he hissed. “You can live here with me, and no one will bother you. No responsibility, either. You’re a lucky one.” The truth was that Jack really did believe that. He had bought some bird food at the store so the bird could live with him. He hated his job and envied the bird, but the bird felt a responsibility to the town and shook the bars of the cage anyway. “Quit that racket!!” Jack shouted at the bird. It stopped. Jack knew birds couldn’t make expressions, but if they could, this bird would look hurt. “I’m going to sleep. Goodnight,” said Jack sternly and lay down, ready for a peaceful night at last. Unfortunately, that’s not what he got. At two in the morning, the bird woke him up by banging on the cage with his long, slender beak. “Stop that!” Jack yelled. He had been having the most pleasant dream. “I’m up! I’m up!” he said, waving his hands around, searching for his glasses, which now rested on the nightstand. “Why isn’t the bird here?” asked little girls and boys all around the town. “I don’t know, dear,” said the parents, not hiding their sadness. Everyone returned with alarm clocks that night, grief spread across their faces, and Jack moved into his guest room because of the bird’s racket. “You’re not doing anyone any good, you know!” Jack yelled at the bird before shutting his door. The next day everyone woke up on time, but all of their glum faces could prove to anyone that something was wrong. The bird couldn’t have affected these people that much, could it? Is it affecting their work? Is it affecting their life? No, silly me. They’ll thank me soon. It’s just an old bird, nothing more than that. An annoyance; yes, that’s what it is. I helped my people in a way that the bird could never help, Jack thought. And with that, he left for work. * * * It was Saturday, Jack’s favorite day. No work, nothing he needed to do. Nothing. It was perfect. But when he walked outside, no one was there to greet him. Where did they all go? Jack wondered as he walked over to a sign stapled to a tree next to a walkway. The sign said, Group Gathering at the Three Trees. The Three Trees was a popular place to have a gathering in Schnitzelberg, but they hadn’t had one in a long time. Wonder what this one’s for? he thought as he walked to the three trees. Once he arrived, however, he was completelyoverwhelmed by surprise. Hanging from the three trees were gigantic banners of the Schnitzelbird that read: To the great Schnitzelbird, we give you our hearts. And the whole town was there! They were all listening to a man standing on a pedestal. The man was the mayor, Sir McMuffin (at least that’s what everyone called him). And Jack would never forget what he said. “Our bird was the greatest of all. We all loved him with all of our hearts, and I am sorry to tell you that we believe that his absence from this town could only mean his death. We believe that our bird was shot by a hunter and is now dead, but I warn you, our bird is not!” proclaimed the mayor. A murmur went through the crowd. Jack was astounded! It was a funeral! A funeral for the bird, and not only that, every single townsperson had come! “He is not dead because he lives on inside each of us! He is not dead because he is still here! He is in you!” and when the mayor said “you,” he pointed to a lady standing in front of him. “And you!” he exclaimed to a man. “And you and you and you and you!” He said, pointing every which way. “He lives in all of us!” cried the mayor. Everyone screamed their applause, but tears were still in their eyes. Jack knew what he had to do. He ran back to his house, up the stairs, and into his old room. “Hi, you,” he said, reaching out his hand and petting the bird. Then he opened the cage.
Animals
Yellowstone, a Fresh Start
When Ruby, a wolf, gets separated from her pack, she must find a new one—or survive on her own Red eyes sparkled in the shadows of night and injected fear like a shot into any animal that glanced in their direction. This proved true for the deer that was staring, lost in the eyes, wondering if her blood would be as red as the pulsing pupils. A furry, red creature sprang into the air and collapsed onto the deer. It was a wolf. Alone. She had been alone for a week. The wolf hadn’t expected that a little run to clear her mind would get her lost from her pack. She chewed the deer in sadness and confusion, wondering why she couldn’t sniff her way back. The stars peppered the sky in dots of glowing life. So still, so quiet. It had been a hard week, but somehow she had powered through it. “Ruby, why haven’t you returned yet?” her mom would be asking. Suddenly, a beating of air sounded through the still night, and Ruby looked up. A strange metal bird with huge propellers on top created a whirlwind of snow, questions, and fear as two strange, furless animals emerged from it. Hoomans, thought Ruby. Her pack had talked about how dangerous they were and about the shooting object they used to poach: a gun. They were also horribly naked, without any fur covering their bodies. Instead, they wore fake fur to cover up. They each held a gun. Fear struck like lightning at her heart as she snarled, but one of their gun’s shots hit her in the neck with a loud, cracking peal. A sharp pain shot through her body, and she collapsed. Ruby woke up to the sound of a voice. The two hoomans were chattering. “That wolf is a beauty—the reddest coat I ever saw,” one said. “Agreed,” said the other. “And the eyes. Got a perfect ruby sparkle, like an albino. Except her coat is red too!” Ruby felt sick from the swaying that was going on beneath her feet. A cage of cold metal bars surrounded her, and Ruby shivered in fright. How long have I been asleep? Suddenly, the pit of her stomach dropped, and a feeling of descent made her insides lurch. Then she felt a sting on her neck, and she fell over. Her eyes caught a glimpse of the gun that had made the shot as she closed her eyes. This is the end, she thought. Ruby woke to a hot sun beating down on her red coat, which glistened like a flower against the green grass. She looked up at the sky; a soft blue lake dotted with clouds greeted her eyes. She sniffed the air and a flurry of smells played in her nostrils, some of them new and unrecognizable. Where am I? Ruby wondered. She looked around and saw a forest and a stream beside her. She trotted over and drank. Cool, refreshing water slipped down her dry throat. This place is amazing, thought Ruby. But this new land hadn’t fixed anything about being alone. She still needed a pack. Ruby looked around and took off into the forest. A few days passed, and soon, Ruby knew the park well. She knew it was called Yellowstone, and she knew hoomans often visited here for a trip. It took a little bit to get used to the heat. She stayed in caves at night. After a while, however, she realized that she had been seeing a lot of deer. Too many deer. The sun sank beneath the mountains as she traveled to Old Faithful, a famous geyser in her new home. She often saw wolf packs over there, hunting and talking about the geyser. That was how she heard its name and learned about its popularity among the hoomans. She never joined these packs. They’re just a gang of nutheads, she thought. They said things differently too. Humans. “Must just be a mispronunciation,” Ruby whispered to herself. But if she wanted to fit in, she had to say it like the Yellowstoners. Soon after she had set out, a waning crescent moon sent a luminous glow across the hills. She soon arrived at Old Faithful and saw signs around the shop that was next to it. Become a Yellowstone Junior Ranger! Bike to Morning Glory Pool! Bikes are allowed on the paved path between the Old Faithful Lodge and Morning Glory Pool. What were these mysterious letters? Probably advertisements, like humans like to do. All of sudden, a huge, roaring wave of water shot up from the earth, steaming and boiling. Ruby flinched as the geyser erupted, laughing and gurgling, churning and broiling at 204 ° Fahrenheit, until she saw a deer. She ran toward it just as the geyser’s water ceased; the deer took off into the forest. For some reason, it turned around, right into Ruby’s paws. It fell, dead, as Ruby swiped at its neck. She looked over to where the deer had suddenly turned and saw a young, grey, wolf, probably around four years old—Ruby’s age. “You,” he said. Ruby didn’t know what to say. “I’m Ash,” said the new wolf. “Go back to that last part. What are you talking about? You’ve heard of me?” said Ruby in surprise. The wolf just stared. “Of course. It’s not like you see a red wolf just wandering around with no pack. You should seriously join one, but not with the morons that hang out by the geyser. Those guys are twerps.” Ash thought they were idiots too! “Yeah,” Ruby replied. “My name’s Ruby, by the way.” The wolf looked around. “Okay, Ruby. We should get back.” “Back to where? You’re all alone. What happened to your pack?” Ash chuckled. “I got lost, but I know my way back. Tonight they’re meeting at Den Four.” Separate meeting dens? I wish my pack were that organized, thought Ruby. “You could come with us if you
A Monarch’s Way Through
A monarch butterfly encounters many obstacles—pollution, cars, and predatory birds—on her migration route Silver buildings gleamed in the distance. They rose high into the sky, blocking the view of it. Shorter buildings puffed out too much smoke, making it impossible for birds to fly over the area. Cars honked almost every second of the day, filling the city with sounds of car horns. Around the perimeter of the city was a row of trees too perfect to be anywhere near the new city. The sun looked like it was ready to cough out its sunlight through the smoke in the sky. A small monarch looked out at the new city, afraid of the new obstacles in her way. She had not seen this city before and didn’t like how it was right in her migration path. No other monarchs had made it this far yet, and she had been told by a ladybug that the only ones who had tried had gone in groups and come back with broken wings or had lost almost everyone in their group. This information scared the monarch, but she was determined to migrate to Mexico, only led by her instinctive compass and the warmth coming from the south. The trees surrounding the perimeter of the city look safest at the moment for the monarch, so she makes her way over. From far away, there seem to be no animals perched in the tree. That’s strange, the monarch thinks. A tree like this is perfect for most animals who dwell near the city. She lands on one of these trees and almost passes out from a strong smell that burns her small trachea. Now she understands clearly why not one creature dares use this tree. It is covered in a pesticide meant to repel only a few select insects. Humans thought they were warding off termites. They had really just made this tree uninhabitable for all creatures. The monarch coughs and glides down to the smooth marble walkway. Her small feet slip on the floor because there’s no friction on the walkway. To get around, she must use her wings. The monarch is in front of the first house and stops to take in the view. She has never seen a place so clean, so organized. The house is modern, with three levels and a flat roof. The yard is filled with completely fake plants, with the exception of one small tree covered in pesticide. Children are playing inside, and they appear to be alone. Then there is a light visible from one of the rooms. The monarch finds herself inching toward the light, entranced by the amazing creations of humanity. Then a small child runs up to the window, staring down at the monarch. He yells something to someone and disappears. The monarch flutters to an upper room and can’t see anyone anymore. She hears a slight sliding sound, like wood against marble. Four children burst out of the door, yelling into the street that there is a butterfly. The monarch disappears around the next corner, knowing that staying in that area would only mean death or a short life in a glass jar. The buildings are beginning to get shorter. There is no longer a chemical scent in the air. Here, it smells musty, and slightly of rotten things. Everything is covered in a thick layer of multicolored grime. A few starlings are poking at trash near a fast food restaurant. Not that many people are in sight. The walkway has also turned into gritty concrete, and the monarch guesses that this is part of a cheaper side of the city. All sorts of bad things happen in places like this. She doesn’t want to stay long but wants to visit the only animal she has seen since she started her journey through the city. The monarch swoops down to the starlings, hoping to know what happened to the monarchs who did not come back from their migration. She also wants someone to talk to. When she lands in the middle of a group of starlings, all of them turn to look at her. “What is a monarch doin’ around here?” The monarch is startled, and turns around quickly to see a big starling looking down at her. He cocks his head and puts his face very close to hers. “I’m migrating through the city,” she answers confidently. “Well, monarch, I wouldn’t keep on goin’. Most of your friends died when they got to that main road,” he said with a strange accent. The bird sounded British but the way that he slurred his words slightly led the monarch to believe he was from the city. “Goodbye, bird,” the monarch said as she began to flutter off. They looked uninterested in her. The bird said nothing and went back to picking at trash. * * * The majority of her journey along the walkway had been uneventful, with only the occasional distraction or stomping feet to interrupt the journey. It was noon now, and what would have been a relaxing evening of cricket chirps is now the loud honk of cars not that far away. As the walkway continues, the honks get louder. Everything seems to be tainted with car oil, and the stink is beginning to make the monarch lightheaded. The monarch is coming near to the main road, which sits right at the edge of the city. It stretches on for miles, reaching seven main cities along the way. The road is four lanes wide. Each lane is large enough to fit an 18-wheel truck comfortably. She shudders, afraid that one car going too fast could be the end of her dream to be the first monarch to reach Mexico. The monarch reaches the edge of the road, and all of the determination drains out of her as fast as water going down a drain. She shudders, afraid that one car going
