Birds

Esther Du
→MFA ILL 2025

“According to statistics, buildings with glass facades are most prone to bird collisions. Birds do not perceive most glass as a barrier and often strike glass surfaces that reflect the sky or nearby greenery, believing they can pass through.”

In the middle to late May, it's that peculiar time of the year again. How should I put it? At the entrance of the student apartment where I am located, I often see dead birds lying on the ground. They’re right on the path that everyone must pass through to enter or exit the apartment, sometimes even at my feet. These dead birds usually appear at specific times, like when I am reading the newspaper or savoring second-hand smoke from a Newport cigarette. Most often, the dead birds will appear on clear afternoons, or, to be more precise, every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon at 3:17 PM. At those times, I can always see black dots darting like baseballs down from the depths of the blue vaulted sky, hitting hard on the glass corridor that connects the second floor of the student apartment between two buildings. After a dull thud sound, those birds silently drop to the ground like wads of tissue paper.

According to the wears-a-Christmas-hat-all-year round apartment front desk attendant, this phenomenon occurs because the glass corridor reflects sunlight, creating a dazzling mirage of the sky every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon from May to June at precisely 3:17 PM. At that specific moment, not a minute earlier or later, the sun reaches a particular angle in the domed sky, casting the most attractive image on the glass—the most desirable sight for all species of birds.

“That glass corridor! I can testify that before its construction, I had never seen birds die in such a tragic and meaningless manner.”

The birds I've seen lying on the ground come in various colors. Some have yellow crowns, some gray wings, white tails, and a red dot as delicate as a gem on their cheeks, mouths open, with a dried bloodstain on the sides, and also black-headed small male birds that are not completely dead yet. There are also transparent ones, ones with doctorates, ones with three wings, and so on. Most of them lie face-up with their two feet raised, lifelike.

However, when the students leave the apartment in the afternoon and return in the evening, the birds on the ground, with their delicate feathers, are already swarming with buzzing flies. I see those students taking a photo every time they pass by, exclaiming, “Look, this is life; it changes in the blink of an eye. When we die, it'll be just like this, in the blink of an eye.” Another student usually replies, “Dmbass, do you think you're also a bird that can't see the glass?” Then the two students in the conversation usually end up kissing each other.

The phenomenon of dead birds has, in fact, only occurred for seven years, starting right after the construction of this student apartment. If you don't believe me, go ahead and check the timeline on Google Maps. Seven years ago, this place was just an empty parking lot. And I've been here for I don't even know how long, long before the construction of that glass corridor. Yes, the whole thing is all because of that glass corridor! I can testify that before its construction, I had never seen birds die in such a tragic and meaningless manner. After understanding the reasoning, I immediately concluded that what's happening is a malicious lure and killing.

It's now 3:36 PM on Saturday. Three birds of the same species died today. “Ah, crows,” I see. I hear those young people with black hair coming out of the apartment saying, “Look, how ominous this is! Three crows died in front of the door.” One of the black-haired students nervously pinched his finger, and as he passed by, he kept a wide distance to the birds, as if those six legs, stiff like dry branches, were something unclean. Those six poor legs were comfortably intoxicated by the warm breeze in this late spring vaulted sky only nineteen minutes ago, and two of them even insolently perched atop my head before they crashed into the corridor.

For a few days and nights, I didn’t see another black-haired student pass by until the wears-a-Christmas-hat-all-year-round front desk attendant came by with a broom and flicked the three crows—that were no longer as lifelike as they had been a few days before—into a plastic garbage bag as black as the color of their feathers.

I said, “It doesn't seem like a good idea to keep going on like this, don't you think?” The attendant tied the garbage bag tightly, “It's none of my business. As far as I'm concerned, I shouldn't have been asked to do this job in the first place.”

“Shall I talk to that glass corridor?”

“Go ahead, he's right there, just shout.” The attendant wiped the hand that touched the garbage bag on his pants, and immediately dusted his pants with the other hand.

“Hey, I have something to ask you.” I shouted in the direction the attendant pointed to.

“Are you looking for me?”

“Yes, looking for you.”

“What's the matter?”

“Why are you always tempting those birds? Letting them think you're passable.”

“I've never moved from here, it's the birds themselves that want to crash into me. How can I be blamed for their deaths?”

“I’m saying, you shouldn't always reflect the most beautiful part of the sky, anyone who looks at it will LOVE it, the ratio of white clouds to blue sky is exactly half and half." It had been a long time since I'd spoken such a long string of words. I continued, "It's a shame, it would have been nice for the birds to be able to pass through.”

“Well, It's not up to me to decide. I don't want you to laugh at me, but I've been here for years. I haven't done anything but let the sun pass or reflect his light whenever he shines on me. The ratio of reflection and transmission is regulated, exactly half to half.” The glass corridor said. “In my opinion, you'll have to go to the sun to ask that question.”

“Well, that’s true. It's not up to you to decide.”

“ A lot of things are not up to us.”

“But the sun is so high, how can I find him to ask?”

“I'll give you an idea. Although you can't touch the sun, his light shines on every surface of our ground. I can see that the sun shines on a lot of you, too," said the glass corridor. "So write down your questions where sunshine is able to reach. The more visible the better. The sun will notice you one day, although that might take a bit long.”

After talking to the glass walkway, I took a pen and paper and wrote down my appeal to the sun as follows:

Cause:
The glass walkway of the student apartment reflects sunlight every Wednesday and Saturday afternoon at 3:17 PM from May to June, causing an illusion that leads to a large number of bird collisions and deaths.

Appeal:
Cancel the emission of sunlight during the time causing bird casualties.

And so I would write this piece of paper every day when I thought of it, and have the crows lay it out for me on the ground around me, on the walls, on the roofs of the apartment buildings, on the students' clothes, on the swimming pools in the apartments, and so on. I didn't count how many more late springs passed after that, maybe twenty. When the twenty first late spring was about to pass, on a very ordinary Saturday afternoon, while I was still placing bets with the attendant who-wears-a-Christmas-hat-all-year-round about the color of the first bird that would die today, I felt the sun’s response. The reply was as follows:

“Continuous sunlight emission every afternoon is a rule established since the world existed, and it's not something I can easily make a decision about. You see, many things in the world are not up to us. Besides, are you going to change the laws of the world for the lives of a few birds?”

I told the attendant that it turns out the sun is just sitting high in the sky away from us, making it difficult to communicate face-to-face. It turns out that the sun is just like you, and me, and everyone else on the ground; many things in the world are not up to us.

The attendant rubbed his chin, scratched the Santa hat on his head, rubbed the keychain in his pocket, made a jingling noise, and said, "Everyone's the same, all the same." Thud. “Remind me, what color did you bet on?”

“Blue. You're red.” I replied. “Looks like neither one of us got the bet right today.”

“Leave the luck for next time then.”

I asked the attendant who-wears-that-damn-Christmas-hat-all-year-round, “What’s up, what brings you with a chainsaw today?”

The attendant looked around and couldn’t find a power outlet, so he replaced it with a hand saw.

He said, “Nothing, man. It's just that the resident in room 203 complained to the apartment. He has to bathe in the sunlight to masturbate. You're growing too tall right in the way of his window.”

I nodded understandingly, and then watched as my body vibrated while the wood saw moved from side to side. And the fan-shaped leaves atop my head drifted down, silently falling to the ground like wads of tissue paper. I was a bit out of it, suddenly thinking that today is the beginning of that season again. I glanced at the sun; it was now afternoon at that certain hour. The attendant first absently sawed off a triangular block from my calf, then went around to the other side and started sawing again.

I asked him, “What time is it now?”

The attendant wiped the sweat from his forehead, raised his hand to look at the watch, and said, “It's exactly 2:00 PM now. What's wrong?”

“Today is a Wednesday,” I said. “I still want to see what color the first bird to die today is. Still betting?”

The attendant said, "Look, I'm so busy I almost forgot, I said last time I'd get it right this time. But that won't be until 3:17 PM, and after cutting you down today the boss said I could leave work early."

“Got it. It's not easy for you either.”

With the vibration felt by my body like the irritating sensation of nails scratching a blackboard, or the sourness of eating ice cream with a corroded incisor, I experienced the weightless feeling of swinging down from the highest point of a pirate ship in an amusement park. Finally, I made the biggest “thud” sound since the construction of the apartment, accompanied by sounds of crashing and clattering, and exclamations of “what the fuck,” “damn God,” “holy shit,” “not my fault,” and so on. I found myself plunged into the glass corridor.

Glass shards were all over the ground, each reflecting a complete sun. It seemed, I thought, that I wouldn’t see the first bird crash here today, or any bird crash here, ever.

Esther Du wants to see the future be gay, merry, and bright.