Unhatched Be: The Rise of Steampunk Portland: The Bird Brain Books, #3

By Autumn Mist

Pen is just a typical kid living in downtown Portland, wishing there was some way to gain approval from their parents. Instead, they simply feel invisible. Then, the world pops. In a matter of weeks, Pen finds themself in the center of a storm that will transform everything humans have ever known. Pen will discover that the unique hobby they picked up to pass the time could save their community and everything they love.

 

Will Pen find the leader waiting to blossom inside and protect Portland from the apocalypse? Or will they throw it all away, in the hope of holding onto a special friendship? What fate is in store for a humanity left adrift with no electricity and little hope? Could it be a humble spirit like Pen?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Autumn Mist
• Release date: Jun 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215240441

Autumn Mist

I grew up reading novels like The Rats of Nimh, Momo, and My Side of the Mountain. My books are inspired by these tales that stretch the imagination, push us outside our comfort zone, and take us on a journey that is more than just miles. I'm an anthropologist, writer and mother living in the misty hills of the oregon coast where I care for abandoned animals, spend many days rock hounding, and grow three beautiful children. Having seen the evils of humans from a young age, I learned to climb into books and out of my own skin. I write for the young people who understand life is hard and curling up with a good book can tend deep wounds. May these stories provide escape and solace to the reader.

Book preview

Chapter 1: Erosion

Pen’s Beginnings

When you grow up ugly , you know it. That’s how it was for me. I’d bet money that even on day one, instead of squabbling about who got to hold the baby, the adults passed me around like a hot potato. Nobody can look at this face for very long. There was no effort to pick up a camera and capture every adorable moment of my infancy. In fact, even my newborn pictures are dominated by giant bright baby blankets. If you look closely at the folded layers of color, you will find ugly little me.

I might not have noticed these details of my first days if I hadn’t continued on in life with being ugly. When I found my feet and took my first steps, nobody noticed, because nobody was looking. My earliest memories are of the back of my parents’ heads. Mom gazing at the phone and Dad gazing at the computer monitor, the light glowing around their profiles. Neither would look up at ugly little me.

They started handing me devices as soon as I was old enough to hold them, a distraction so they’d not be bothered by my presence. A way to avoid their shame at making such a monstrous little child. This didn’t work for me; the cold flat glare of the screen only spotlighted my loneliness. The phone did not hug me.

That’s why I started going outside. Anything to escape the suffocating air of disappointment that filled our little Portland apartment. The first few times I walked to a local park; I thought maybe I’d find a friend at the playground.

I was wrong. Kids didn’t like to look at me anymore than my parents did. I tried at school, and I tried again at the park, but no circle let me in. Nobody needs an ugly kid around. The more I tried, the more I was taunted.  The last day I was at the park, some kids had stolen my coat, ripped it into shreds and tossed it in the mud, Now it looks more like your face! They sneered at me as they shoved me down with the remains of my jacket.

I went home in tears and tried to tell my parents I’d need a new coat for school. My dad was furious, and my mom was disgusted, "WHY can’t you just play at the park like a normal kid?!?" The room filled with shouting as the jacket was angrily shoved into the kitchen garbage. I wished I could climb in there with it.

I flew from the room and the apartment and my parents’ disappointment, desperately searching for sanctuary. I couldn’t return to the park, not today, and maybe never. I ran into the apartment stairwell, slammed the door behind me and stood there, alone and shaking. It seemed like my very breath was stolen away from me. Gasping tiny sobs rattled my body as little stars blurred my vision. I knew I had to calm down, or I’d puke. I stumbled up the stairs, hoping to find a way to the roof and fresh air.

That day I didn’t find the fresh air, but I did find the pigeons.

I was immediately fascinated.  The birds didn’t scatter when I opened the rooftop door, instead they seemed to make space so that I could walk amongst them. They met my gaze with a babbling friendliness that reminded me of my mom when she and her sisters were happy and visiting. I always wanted to sit at the table and hear the stories they told, the laughs and the joy. The truth was, when I walked in to see what everyone was so happy about, voices would drop, and people would stare. The family never made space for me. I did not belong at that table, at any table.

Here, amongst the birds, I felt welcome for the first time in my life. I wandered the rooftop until I found a little enclave with a ledge at about seat-height and plopped down. I could see the entire city from here, towering buildings which spread towards bridges and an industrial port and then the ocean. I watched the giant freight ships moving slowly out towards sea. I wondered what that was like, to be aboard a giant ship bound for another continent. I wondered if I’d ever leave Portland.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the pigeons, as if they felt I should keep my mind on my more immediate circumstances. A little group of them wandered up making a ruckus and demanding my attention. I laughed as they fluttered about. I really loved their feathers. Pigeons all look a lot alike, and they also look totally unique. There were several who were speckled and blotchy like me. They wore it better, each proudly preening their unique plumage. I wondered what that’s like. Living in an odd body and still loving myself didn’t even seem possible.

One of the pigeons really stood out, it was so beautiful, I figured it must be a boy. I decided immediately he was my new best buddy, and I named him Wilson. I thought it was funny, I’d seen a movie where this guy was stranded for years, and his only friend was a volleyball named Wilson. I was in a city full of people, and I still felt like I was alone on a deserted island. Wilson would be my only friend. I was sitting there amused at what a great name I had picked when Wilson turned around and I was shocked to see he was wearing a backpack. I did a double take and checked again, sure enough, he was sporting a little blue pack.

I dug in my pockets and found the remains of some cheesy crackers and tossed the crumbs at my feet. Immediately all the pigeons circled and started snagging the treats. I held onto a nice big crumb and waved it at Wilson, Want a special treat? Show me what you’re wearing, and I’ll share.

It seemed like Wilson knew exactly what I wanted. He leapt from where was and fluttered to a rest on my knee. I was shocked when he landed in my lap so casually, as if we’d done this dozens of times. I put the crumb on my knee next to the little guy and deftly started to fidget with the tiny backpack. I quickly realized it was nothing like MY backpack, no zipper for one thing. It was a tiny cylinder with shoulder strap, basically. The top was about the diameter of my pinky and the cap spun off easily. Under a rubber gasket, I found a tiny scroll.

My name is Benji, and this is my bird.

If you find him, send a message back!

PS, his name is Wilson.

~ Benji

I sat there a little shocked. How had I known Wilson’s real name? Who was Benji? I was so SO excited to write my response. If only I had anything to write with. I glanced around at the rooftop optimistically but had no luck. Shocking, no pens on the rooftop. I decided to go get a pen so I could write to Benji. I put the little cap back on Wilson’s pack and headed towards the rooftop door.

The three flights of stairs down to my apartment seemed to vanish as I practically hovered the entire way with excitement. This was the coolest thing that ever happened to me. Maybe if Benji never had to see my ugly face, he would want to be my friend. It was a once in a lifetime chance.

I ran through the front door completely forgetting that I’d snuck out to avoid the scrutiny and scorn of my parents. They were still arguing and looked up as I burst in. I paused and they paused.

What are you up too? my dad asked.

I just went for a walk. I answered.

Well, you should’ve asked first. Stop running off without permission. My mom demanded.

This demand was especially weird to me, because half of the time when I talked to my parents about anything, they didn’t even hear me. I ignored my own annoyance and apologized, I’m sorry, I’ll ask next time. I answered.

We talked about the coat, and we can’t afford to replace it right now. Mrs. Kelley down the street says she has a hand me down for you, but you need to go wash her dishes as a thank you. My dad informed me.

I cringed a little with annoyance, I just wanted a freaking pen and to go back to Wilson. I knew there was no point in arguing. Thanks for helping me find a way to get another coat, I said to them both, I’ll go over and do the dishes right now, so I have it for school in the morning.

It was almost like they were proud. I saw it there, a tiny flicker, and then it vanished. I didn’t wait for the praise; I knew it wasn’t coming. I dashed back out the door to Mrs. Kelley’s apartment down the block from ours. I had learned quickly that one way to offset my ugly was to be likeable. I was often more annoyed than I let people know. I was often more sad than I let people know. I worked constantly to be somebody that people didn’t hate, because hate is the first response that anybody has when they look at me.

The dishes took a LIFETIME. I remember wondering how Mrs. Kelley could’ve possibly known I was coming because it seemed like she saved them up for me. I vaguely remembered she had a nephew my age that came and stayed every summer. Maybe she’d been saving them for him. The pile shrank slowly, along with my hopes of making a new friend. When they were finally done, I rushed from the apartment, pausing only long enough to ask Mrs. Kelley if I could also have a pen from her desk by the front door. She shrugged and gave me permission as she handed over the new-to-me jacket.

I slipped it on as I dashed out the door towards my building and the birds. The jacket slid on almost like magic and hugged my body perfectly. I paused and looked down at it. It wasn’t really a coat at all. It was the top half of a tailored suit. Outside it was a dark blue and almost velvet in texture and inside the smooth purple lining reminded me of a raincoat. Along the sleeves and shoulders, it had embroidery and I peered closely at the designs. It was a pattern of birds perched along cherry blossoms. Amazing. I ran my hands over the silky pattern and couldn’t believe my luck, I’d have done dishes for the rest of the year for this! I almost ran back in to thank Mrs. Kelley again, but the pigeons were calling for me. Not literally, of course, but I felt compelled to get back to them as quickly as possible.

I ran up the stairwell and zoomed past my floor without even a pause. I didn’t need my parents’ permission if they didn’t even know I was home from my chore. The stairs seemed a thousand miles long this time, my eagerness making the time stretch infinite. I finally burst through the door and onto the roof. The sun was setting over Portland and the air up here practically glowed with orange and pink hues. I glanced around excitedly, and my heart dropped.

There wasn’t a single pigeon in sight.

I NEVER STOPPED CHECKING for the birds. My new ritual was to rush home from school, dash directly past my own floor, and check the roof for the flock of feathered visitors to return. Two weeks later, the fated day arrived. I knew as soon as I cracked that rooftop door because it felt like even the light was different up there. Flutters and cues greeted me as I made my way to my favorite seat and glanced at each little grey body, searching for Wilson. I spotted him hanging with a buddy right next to the rooftop ledge and pulled a little piece of cheese from my pocket.

Wilson, want a snack? I asked him as I waved the bit of cheese at him. He saw me and did a cute little hop right to my feet. I put the cheese under his little beak and then deftly unscrewed the tiny canister pack he carried. Inside I found another little scroll.

Hello! Wilson came back without his scroll,

so I know someone is out there.

I hope you write back this time!

~Benji

I was so excited. I dug into my suitcoat and found the pen I’d been keeping there for this exact moment. I flipped the tiny scroll over and then I stared at it. In all the days waiting to see Wilson again, I’d never once thought of what I’d write back to Benji. It had to be something short, the scroll was so small. I wanted Benji to be just as excited about being MY friend as I was about meeting him. What would I say? My mind ran through several options and finally I settled on my reply.

Hello Benji, my name is Pen.

Yes... like the thing you write with.

I couldn’t write back the 1st.

time bc I had no pen!

Wilson is cool. Write back. ~Pen

I looked at the note and wasn’t very impressed with myself, but at least I was finally sending a message back to Benji. I wondered how far away he lived, and if it would take another two weeks to get a reply. I hoped not.  I rolled the little strip of paper back up, tucked it in the canister and tightened the lid. I guess I expected Wilson to take off right away, but instead he and his flying companions lingered until almost sunset. I wanted my message to be on its way, but I was happy to spend time with the pigeons. They were just such cool little creatures.  It was just so fun to look at all their unique markings and try and learn to tell them apart. Pigeons are all the same and all look like individuals. My favorite were the ones that had mottled patchwork markings, like me.

The evening sun started to fade and when the sunset was at its brightest, the pigeons took flight heading west. I watched their silhouettes as they vanished into the skyscapes of Portland. When they were far out of sight, I finally gave up my post and headed back towards our apartment. I hated going home. It wasn’t just tonight, now that my friends had departed, but every night. One step through the door and the suffocating weight of disappointment would hit. My stomach dropped as I descended the stairs towards our floor.

I walked in and the moment I did, I knew something was wrong. My parents were talking in rushed voices and in the lilt of their words, I could hear something new. Fear. They looked up as I opened the door and my mom rushed over to me and closed it quickly. She ushered me into the kitchen and then held my hands under the faucet at the sink and washed them as though I was a toddler just learning this task. A flood of blue antibacterial dish soap covered her hands and mine and I felt her fingers gently pressing the soap into every nook of my palms. Our arms hovered over the sink while she scrubbed, and quietly she recited a verse of one of her favorite songs. When it was over, she put our hands back under the warm flow of water and rinsed them until the blue and the slick bubbles disappeared down the drain.

I looked up at her, completely confused.