A Mythological Tale: “The Story of Vulture” By Difan Li

 A Mythological Tale: “The Story of Vulture”

By Difan Li

Long ago, Vulture was the most respected of birds, with sleek feathers, a long straight neck, and an elegant beak. He had many, many friends and admirers, and was the most adored creature that ever flew. Things couldn’t have been better for him. 

One day, while strutting across the ropy branches of an old oak, he encountered a youngling bird that had fallen out of its nest. He always found these chicks nuisances, squawking loudly and creating a ruckus that disrupted all peace and tranquility. He had almost decided to just leave it, till a grand idea slipped in mind. He could leave it, yes. But, if he were to return it to its nest, he’d be proclaimed a hero, the great Vulture who saved a poor little chick from death. In the short silence that followed, with his mind caught up in his plan, Vulture began to notice the young bird’s sleek feathers, its long straight neck, and its elegant beak. They were just as beautiful as his, maybe a hint better. What would happen when the bird grew up, and completely outshone him? 

“There you are!” The relieved cluck of a female bird startled Vulture out of his train of thought. “You’ve saved him! How can I ever pay you back?” It was Parrot. 

“You don’t owe me anything. I’m just happy to be of service,” Vulture responded in a sickly sweet voice. “However, I do wish to say that this little youngling of yours is quite a pretty picture,” Vulture said, testily now, with turmoil rising within him for Parrot’s response. Vulture was sure she’d say: “Vulture, my friend, you are the most gorgeous bird. How can anyone beat you?” Would Parrot say that?

“Oh, yes, my chick here is rather special,” were the only words that left her mouth.

This confirmed Vulture’s gnawing fear. If this chick lives, everyone will no longer worship me, the mighty, beautiful Vulture, he thought. Though maybe, just maybe, if the bird died… he would remain the most handsome bird.

The second this all passed though Vulture’s mind, he grabbed the chick and took off. Where to? His nest. No one could reach him up there. They’d be hurdled back by the strong winds, or beaten down by the burning sun. Only his wonderful, sleek feathers could fly up there. However, the squirming chick in his talons greatly hindered his progress. With another twist, Vulture’s grip faltered, and the chick slipped out, dropping like a stone. Vulture swooped back, ready to snatch the chick out of the air. Someone got there first. Parrot, giving an angry screech, drifted in a downwards spiral, safely carrying the little bird down. 

Vulture hovered in midair, then with shriek of his own, pelted toward them with astonishing speed, driven by fear and fury. This did no good. When Vulture approached, Parrot scratched him with his talons. When Vulture tried to sneak behind, Parrot pecked at him with a sharp beak. When Vulture drifted from above, Parrot beat him with his wings. Whenever Vulture appeared in range, Parrot thwarted him. Again and again this went on. When finally, Vulture was too tired to even lift a feather, they stopped. 

“Vulture, you used to be the most respected bird, and you’ve always feared someone would outclass you. Today, you’ve subjected yourself to this very demise.” With that, Parrot left, carrying the little bird with her. 

Vulture looked at his own feathers, rumpled and dirty. He looked at his long, straight neck, now crooked and squashed. He looked at his elegant beak, now bent and hooked. The other birds laughed and mocked his newfound hideousness. 

And to this day, Vulture always circles overhead before attacking, fearing someone else will be there to stop him.