Opening + the Old Man and the Mynah Bird

Well this is a start, who knows who will end up reading my personalised vanity product?

This is definately going to build 'writing' skills.

I dont traditionally write, when i do this is what happens..... its coded enough for nobody to understand it really

A story about an old man and a mynah bird

This is really about a mate of mine. He is becoming rather worried about hings lately, and I think this will give him a good laugh.

In a big city there lived an old man, he wasn’t really that old and he wasn’t all that masculine, but if you sat with him in a room, you would understand. Well, this old man had a mynah bird, you know the kind that spoke when spoken to, and generally did what it was told to, without worrying too much about revolting against the cruel system that held her captive in a big city. She was happy with her life, if a little busy. He was happy too, and loved to wander the streets and wonder about things.

The old man sat on a park bench and started feeding the ducks with the little food he had, he wasn’t rich, but he made full use of what he had. It was on a duck feeding expedition that the mynah bird and the old man came across each other. Spring was letting itself be known to both of them. The mynah bird had noticed how sadly misguided many of the duckfeeders were in their duckfeeding ways. She would often chastise the duckfeeders and try to tell them what would be better for duckkind, but it was hard. Now the old man was an interesting and noble soul, and held a similar duckfeeding stance to the mynah bird and so they got along together swimmingly.

Their months together were fruitful for ducks and duckfeeders and duckfeeder intermediaries. Autumn started to burn the life out of the park and the mynah bird rejected the old mans kind offer of a house for the winter, stocked with all the cakes a bird could eat. She was drawn to join her flock of mynah birds on a pigeon spotting project, which was a stable profession that was societaly respected and pretty cushy really, though it did take up a lot of her time. The old man was far more interested in building the most exquisite clocks in the land, and he took to it like a man possessed.

Now years passed and neither the old man, nor the dear mynah bird spent much time thinking about each other, until the mynah bird swooped back onto the old mans shoulder. This messed up the old mans rhythm and turned him into a different person, slightly more obsessed than before, but with something else, something birdy. He wanted to build clocks, she was a qualified pigeon spotter with a tiring schedule.

The old man thought long and hard about his renewed relationship with the mynah bird, they were different from before. And this mynah bird was less talkative. ‘Why don’t you talk to me Mynah Bird?’ the old man asked himself, ‘How comes I have to do everything?’ This was not good for his mental health and was killing his ambition and even the some of the best parts of his nature.

This continued for months and months, much to the amusement and fear of some of the people who loved the old man. Then one day he decided to proverbially ‘Sod it’.

The End