A Crime of instinct

Sweet songs I sing and joy I bring

To those who gaze upon

But my heart does yearn and feelings burn

For liberty now long gone.

Serinus gazed at his immutable surroundings, bars, bars, nothing but bars, a cell within a cell within a cell, this had been his abode for... well, what seemed like forever. Time was now no longer an issue, no longer relevant, something he had discarded like a worn-out pair of old boots, not that he ever had a need for such things, but in reality, it would probably be about ten years. 

He had long since given up any hope of parole, like it or not he was a lifer, a permanent fixture, long forgotten by his own kind.

Imprisoned for a crime, an unknown crime, indeed his only crimes were that of innocence and ignorance. Innocence for he had spent most of his life behind bars and knew little of the outside world; ignorance of the fact that he was who he was, a commodity, an article of trade, a victim of his own birthright.

To own is to have status, such a shallow minded idiom, especially at the expense of the innocent.

His only companion other than solitude, were the occasional visits by his jailers, Tom and Tom’s superior Bob. There was however the Count, sometimes referred to as Drac, who rarely made an appearance, but occasionally he could be seen lurking in the shadows.

Other than false incarceration he was always treated well; food and water were in abundance, in fact he often wondered if he was being fattened for the kill or maybe some satanic ritual. He gave a shudder at the thought, before quickly dismissing the idea.

He would often sit for hours on end gazing through the bars of the single window. The window to another life, the life of liberty, liberty and freedom. Freedom was a delicacy, a dish he had not tasted since his youth in his home land of Cape Verde. It was then an island paradise, until ‘they’ came. Deportation they had called it, living hell he called it. Colour discrimination, words without meaning.  Apartheid, just a term that seemed too rolled off the tongues of visionaries and dreamers alike. For this was the reality of the new world.

His father had been selected for forced labour down the coal mines of Europe, but unlike his mother and siblings, who had perished on the journey to this colder climate, he had survived.

But was this survival or the dawn of extinction for his kind?

He gazed again through the window of life, the sun now at its pinnacle. It was food time for the free, his curiosity turned to envy when he saw the market traders touting their edibles as some of his fellow beings swarmed around. There goes young Squabs in his gleaming white collar, looking like the proper gentleman. He glanced at his own apparel, a bright yellow coverall. He had heard it described as a banana suit, something that would distinguish him from other beings, yet in his present environment it rendered him... well, not quite the clone, but certainly androgynous to all but his own kind. How he wished he could don the multi-coloured waistcoat, the striped jacket and the black leggings and just dissolve into the chaos of the feeding frenzy.

He sat and pondered... and pondered... and pondered...

His reverie was interrupted by a loud click and the creak of the hinges from the cell door to his private habitat. Tom’s face appeared as he sarcastically announced,

   “Time for walkeees”

Leaving the cell door open for Serinus, he made his exit. This was his exercise hour, and by no means a daily occurrence, for it could be days if not weeks before he may be allowed such luxuries again. But today he was in no mood for exercise, in fact the only trip he would be taking today was one of nostalgia. Whenever he felt despondent, as he was this day, he would seek solace in his own thoughts. He longed for Siskin.

His parents had said he was blessed with the voice of an angel, and all day long he would sing love songs to Siskin, his childhood sweetheart. They were so young and so naive, but it was a union that was not to be. His parents had forbidden it, for Siskin was not of his kind, his colour, his clan.

Once again his thoughts were interrupted by a strange sound from behind; he quickly turned and came face to face with the devil himself.

Serinus froze with fear as he looked into the face of death, the nefarious features of the Count, his jet black hair falling into a widow’s peak just above the grey face, which displayed a pair of demonic green eyes that blazed with excitement. The Count gave a fiendish smile as two ivory pointed tendrils, shimmering like stars in the night’s sky, protruded upon his lower lip.

It happened in the blink of an eye, Serinus felt the fangs penetrate his soft flesh, the bite had a strange soothing effect, his body began to relax and in his mind he saw the opening of another cell door, the door to another reality. He saw the rolling landscapes and foaming rivers of his homeland, the sound of sweet chorus. He needed no enticing to pass the final threshold and shed this physical bondage.

Serinus was now at peace with himself.

 It was an hour before Tom discovered the hideous crime. He instantly crossed himself.

   “Sweet Mary mother of Jesus” he muttered to himself as he gazed upon the yellow and scarlet tainted flock scattered upon the floor, the remnants of what was.

   “The poor creature” Tom continued “Has his soul gone to heaven?” he quizzed himself “Indeed! Do such creatures have souls or has his very essence been so tainted by the evil Count and is now destined to wonder the barren wastelands of purgatory?”

Tom announced the discovery of the crime to his superior...

“Dad, the cat’s had the canary”