Entry Number 050603A

My hand slipped from my father's grip (he always attributed it to his leather gloves being slippy) and I ran towards the bird. It was small and delicate, looking a few months old. I remember it clearly as I held that small lump of feathers in my hands, getting my hands wet and bloodied very quickly. I was almost in tears at the sight and the heavy hand that was set on my shoulder comforted me no less.

"You can't save it, Vestar. You should let it die." Armitage stared over my head at the bird as well, his lips pulled into a straight line as he concentrated on the bird's broken wing. "Come on, leave it. You'll freeze out here."