The Heavenly Headlines By Red Beak

By Arif Anees

Yasin Akram was having the worst and best night of his life. He was wearing a stranger’s pants without any underwear and talking to a man calling himself Red Beak as they sat on the monkey bars in a park.

Red Beak was in a similar predicament. The ‘news hawk of the gods’ had finally confronted the boy with the brick he had loomed over for weeks. “So tell me, what is it you’ve been trying to catch with that light brick of yours,” Red Beak’s voice cracked and squeaked as he made his way through the sentence. "And I saw your father grow quite angry with you the other night when you refused to give your prison to him."

“I’m just trying to catch the light. It’s called photography,” Yasin’s voice was deeper at sixteen than the grown man beside him, but Red Beak’s tall, wiry frame dwarfed Yasin. "And don't talk about that man."

“Photo-graphy,” Red Beak rolled the word around in his mouth with a frown. “Painting with light. But why paint with light when there isn’t any?”

“I don’t know, man. Why were you being a creep and sneaking into my pictures? I thought I was going crazy for weeks seeing your stupid silhouette in the background. I still think I’m going crazy.” Yasin bit his lip and tugged his hair.

“Relax, I was just having dinner. You were the one who soiled his pants. You are welcome for the pair you’re wearing by the way.”

“You tore a bat’s wings off and swallowed its body whole! I think I heard you moan right after!” Yasin scrunched his eyebrows and squinted away his tears. “Look there’s no story here. I like taking walks at night and I like taking pictures. There’s nothing god-worthy.”

“I do not visit the courts of Zeus or Krishna. I serve lesser gods, ones you wouldn’t have heard of. Heroes and demigods with some boons to their name. You’d be surprised what they deem worthy of their note. They love hearing about the things people do to their bodies and the gossip of your high societies. But a new wave of hotshots has those assignments. And I’m about to be old news. But I can’t be old news, I am Red Beak!” The divine journalist tried to impose his voice on the night but he was a hollow bird with a worn throat.

"Good news. That sells. I heard Mike Tyson wants to fight Achilles," Yasin said, with clouds of doubt still looming in his mind about how real any of this was. "My butt hurts, let's walk a little."

The two climbed down the monkey bars and walked.

Red Beak mulled the thought over. "The gods are jealous beings. This Mike Tyson of yours, didn't he claim to be a god?"

Yasin nodded.

"That won't work. They'd have my feathers if I brought them tales of tall men."

"Are you an actual bird?"

"Yes, this is a form I took so I may see the world as your kind does! But my beak was reddened by the bloody tales of war I carried to the courts. Your Great Wars. The gods, too, were harder things then. They have grown weary of the same conflict and bloodshed dressed anew."

Yasin kicked a soda can along as he listened. "You're a journalist, right? Not a jester?"

"Yes!" Red Beak straightened his back and puffed his chest everytime he agreed. Yasin noticed Red Beak's bobbing neck and stiff gait. He really is a bird, Yasin thought.

"Then take the stories of our pain to them so they can help. Maybe ask those perverts to ease up on the natural disasters and fix some of the things we've broken." Yasim mumbled "broken" under his breath before yelling, "And maybe they can stop men from breaking things they don't understand!" Yasin kicked his soda-can-football into the distance.

"With ideas like those it's no wonder you're here alone. I guess I made you wet yourself for nothing," Red Beak spewed.

Yasin absorbed Red Beak's anger in silence. He had plenty of experience from the home he slipped out of every night.

Red Beak took a few angry steps and stopped in his tracks. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Do you know I've said the f-word three times this week? The longer I stay here without a story, the more I become like man."

"Your gods really don't seem to be much better than us. But I think I know a way for you to get some good stories. I'll tell you if you agree to do something for me."

"Yes!" Red Beak’s neck twitched.

"Have you ever heard of gonzo journalism?" Yasin asked.

"Afraid not," said Red Beak.

-

Red Beak stood facing a veil of light and spoke without speaking.

"I bring to you the tale of Yasin, the… seventh of his name! An aristocrat of repute and ruler of the night. But the young prince's looks belie his evil intentions. For he possesses a prison in his hand! This trap swallows the light and anything in it. One evening, the sinister boy spied me spying the world for you and caged your beloved Red Beak.

"He tossed me behind a glass wall as he whisked away horses, monkeys, men and vast lands into his everlasting prison." Red Beak conjured a wild story as Yasin had told him to. He proceeded to paint vivid details of pain and torture within his tiny cell and how all the prisoners united against their captor to defeat him.

For the first time in over seventy years, the veil of light was lifted and Red Beak witnessed the old faces who once adored him. "And if it pleases you, the ruler of the Night would like your audience."

Yasin stepped out of Red Beak's shadow and though he didn't need to speak with his mouth, he took a deep breath for all he was about to say.

By Arif Anees