The Witness

The sky hums in soft colors, in streaks of pink and orange painted across the blue canvas. The sun hanging off the edge of the world threatens to disappear and swallow us in darkness. I admire it, but not long enough to stop working. I carefully run through my to-do list in my head as I thrum between the thick trees.

I pass by a bear family, the baby cub – young, but keenly interested in its surroundings. It sniffs every curious rock, every vibrant flower it passes, and the mother bear patiently waits for him to catch up. They continue their brisk walk as I observe on low hanging tree branches.

Suddenly, without warning, something moves from under the mother bear and snatches her up with the air whipping its surroundings. Birds from nearby oak trees promptly flock away at the sudden noise. Branches snap from the impact, and the mother bear lets out a low yelp. The baby bear looks around in confusion before finally looking up. I move closer to get a better view. I haven’t seen anything like this in ages. She’s suspended in a net, dangling from a tree with no way to get out. She claws at the net frantically, but without any luck. The terrified mother bear calls for her cub.

“Go back home,” she says in a panic.

The baby bear whimpers as he looks up at his mom. I peek around nearby bushes, as the cub circles underneath the net, searching for a way to aid his mother. The net almost looks wickedly evil now as the sun pokes through the wide gaps in the netting. The mother bear understands: there’s no way out no matter how hard she scratches at the rope. She’s as helpless as a turtle on its back.

A real pity if you ask me.

They seemed to be having a good day.

I relax by a nearby tree, still amused by my new entertainment of the day. Refusing to listen to directions, the baby cub tries to clumsily climb the tree the net is tied to, but fails.

Repeatedly.

I almost feel bad for it. It even tries to let out a growl as if the tree would understand and release its mother. After many failed attempts, I’ve seen it try to head butt the base of the very sturdy tree. That seemed to hurt the cub more than that poor abused tree.

The baby bear stares at the net for a little longer before starting to run in the direction they were originally headed. The mother bear looks horrified; I reckon the cub is not going home. She starts bellowing at the cub. It’s so loud it vibrated through my whole body and even woke up the sleeping owls.

Of course, they aren’t aware of my presence. I’m just a little blip in the background. But after witnessing such a tragedy, I’m intrigued by the outcome. I make my way to the mother bear, perhaps to console her– I’m not really sure – and make sure I’m in clear view.

“Please find my baby,” she says in between sobs, “make sure he’s all right.”

She looked at me, broken but trying not to show it, like she didn’t want to fall apart until she knew the cub was safe. I think about my mother, how she would be mortified if I was in the cub’s shoes, and I comply. I was almost done with the day's job anyway. I had time to spare.

So I spent hours retracing the cub’s steps, going into every little cave, every little nook and cranny. It couldn’t have gotten that far. Somehow, my determination grows the more I think about its mother, still hanging on that tree worrying about her baby. I search tirelessly, through thick trees, listening for any sign of it.

Then, the forest began to thin.

The trees stood farther apart. The ground softened. The air smelled different – drier, tinged with hay and something metallic. For the first time, I could see more sky than leaves. The grass, once tall, started shrinking as I continued the path. For a second I thought I was dreaming. I was in a world I’d never seen before.

The green pasture lined the whole world from this point, it seems. There were towering red boxes wearing a pointed hat puffing smoke like a dragon's sigh. Next to it were metal monsters on wheels, unmoving but humming faintly. The smell of hay hung heavy in the air, mixed with the damp earth. Maybe it had just rained.

Between two of the red boxes, something moved. A shadow? No, a figure. Small, brown, slow.

The cub.

Bingo.

I approach this mystical place, both in awe and in nervous wonder. The closer I got, the bigger the red boxes got, looming like cliffs. And all around them, unfamiliar creatures roamed. I thought I'd seen all types of animals before – until today. Before I met pink bears with funny-looking noses, before I met leaner moose, no antlers, just hair growing down its back. None of them like anything I’d seen in the forest.

Once I got the cub back and figured out how to get mother bear out of the net, I’m going to be a hero. I think this is one of the most honest things I’ve ever done. Exhausting work, but one that will go down in history.

I finally reach the tall red boxes and I scan for the cub. And there it is, by a pile of hay approaching a human man. I internally applaud the baby cub for its intelligence to get aid from a human. Clever little creature, that one.

The human man hadn’t noticed him yet. He was busy filling a hollow silver cylinder with water. The shininess of the silver reminds me of a beetle's back. That gives me a distasteful feeling in my mouth but I don’t look away.

The cub stepped closer. Calm. Careful. Trying not to startle.

Then the man turned.

Their eyes met.

The man dropped the cylinder, the contents of it pooling beneath his foot. The cub stands its ground, still inching forward, its body language asking for help.

Instead, the man turned and ran.

Without hesitation, the baby cub followed his footsteps, this time picking up the pace. Still unthreatening. Still small. Still hopeful. The man disappears into one of the red boxes. I hold my breath as if that would help the cub. Seconds later, he stepped back out.

And this time, he was holding something.

Black. Long. Stiff. It didn’t look friendly.

The man raises the appendage, aiming it at the cub. Then came the thunder.

No clouds in the sky. No lightning. Just a sound so loud the whole world seemed to flinch. A crack that echoed through the pasture and into my chest.

The cub dropped.

I didn’t see fire, but I smelled it, faint and bitter, like something burning inside the earth. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. The cub had been brave. Clever even. Hopeful. And now–

Another crack of thunder.

The black branch screamed again. The sound tore through the deafening silence like claws. The man didn’t even hesitate.

He turned and walked back into the red box, vanishing behind the same door through which he had retrieved the black branch of fire.

I didn’t move for a moment. The wind rustled the hay. I could hear from far away that birds were chirping like nothing had happened.

But I saw what happened.

I forced myself forward to the cub, my heart about to beat out of my chest.

This had gone terribly wrong. It wasn’t breathing. It had a gaping hole in its belly where there should have been more cub. The kind of wound that doesn’t heal, the kind that takes, and takes, and never gives back.

The black branch killed it.

I backed away, wings twitching with panic, my heart drumming too fast to keep time. This wasn’t the ending I imagined. I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t anything at all.

I flew – faster than I ever had before – away from the horrid sight.

And I thought about her – the mother bear still hanging from the tree, waiting for her baby to come home.

I thought about what I’d tell her.

And I thought about what I wouldn’t.

I’m just a worker bee, after all. There’s still work to do.