Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26969809-20151016205753

I've been wanting to rewrite some of the old folklore I grew up on. The following story originates from Fairmont, WV, which is my hometown. It is called The Dead Sparrow or Tortured Sparrow, depending on who you talk to. I wrote most of it from memory.

Jim was a womanizer, a wife beater and a lover of the bottle.

One night, he got so drunk that he beat his wife to death. In a panic, he threw her body in a bonfire and burned her, until she was nothing, but ash.

He told all the folks in town that his wife had ran away with another man. Considering his treatment of her, no one acted surprised.

Winter was harsh in the same year. So harsh that Jim went out his front door and found a little sparrow. He picked up the tiny guy and tore the feathers from it.

He then placed it in a tree and the poor thing chirped and chirped for help. The next day, the sparrow had been frozen to the tree.

About a week later, Jim was about to fall asleep, when he heard his wife call his name. “Jim, I'm cold. I'm so cold.”

Jim, at first, passed it off as the wind and attempted to fall back asleep. “Jim, I'm so cold.”

Jim grabbed his shotgun and ran outside, thinking it was some punks messing with him. He had to rub his eyes a couple of times at what he was seeing.

The naked sparrow sat up in a tree and spoke in his wife's voice. “Jim, please, I'm cold.”

Shaking his head, he pointed the gun at the bird and fired, but it didn't even flutter away. “Jim, I'm cold. I'm cold, please, Jim.”

During the rest of winter, the sparrow sat outside, mocking him. Until he finally turned his shotgun on himself. 