I wrote this short story a few weeks ago for a submissions call. Dubbed “Lady Yellowbird and the Flight of the Sad Panda,” it’s a patriotic story about a grandmother who has one last song to sing for her freedom. Normally I’d find another home for this, but based on recent events here in Madison, Wisconsin, a few friends and readers asked me to post it. This is for you.
Lady Yellowbird and the Flight of the Sad Panda
By Monica Valentinelli
“Devon, what do you think?” Rose was excited. For the first time since they had been forced into the Gray Sector, she was filled with hope.
Her husband took one, long look at his wife of eighty years and declared: “Woman? You’re nuts. You can’t wander about on a crusade. If you’re depressed, just ask the doctor for some nanos.”
Rose slowly climbed out of her steel chair and grabbed her walker. Even though her body had been outfitted with Grade A cybernetics, the fleshy bits still hurt. “You can’t just patch everything up with junk metal. You’re just too chicken to admit I’m right. This place is killing us.”
Devon was about ten years younger than she was but, unlike Rose, he was confined to their bed. It had been so long since they slept together, she couldn’t remember what it felt like to wake up next to his warm skin. She missed that but then again: she missed a lot of things. Like doughnuts and coffee and dancing.
“You have an answer for everything. Don’t you, Rose? Before the nanos, there were drugs. Before drugs, there was electroshock therapy. And before that? People took herbs or they suffered through it. No need to cause trouble just ’cause you’re feeling bad.”
“So what are you saying then?” Rose asked. “We’re supposed to spend the rest of our lives in a tomb? Some politician’s going to decide how we’re going to live?” Truth be told, she was itching for an argument.
“You’ll get caught.”
“I’ve still got my voice.”
Devon wheezed. “Woman, you frustrate the hell out of me sometimes. You know that?”
“I can’t believe you of all people have just given up. All I want to do is to bring a little light back to the world. That’s it. Why is that so hard to understand?”
“The sentries’ll shoot you down.” The Gray Sector was New Chicago’s description for a cluster of old buildings. All city residents who reached the age of seventy were required by law to move in and stay behind the massive electric gates which were supposedly guarded by robotic sentries. Devon just called it hell. “We’re forgotten. We’re like zombies here. No one cares about us. “
“All the more reason why I have to do this, Devon. I have to try.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I don’t want any regrets, especially if–”
“–if you end up like me.” Devon closed his eyes. She knew he was frustrated, and not because he couldn’t win this argument. He often asked her how she could still love him. Then he’d list the number one reason why she shouldn’t: most of his flesh was wired up to some machine they had to rent, for chrissakes.
Her voice dropped to a mournful whisper. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Just go.”
Rose would not let herself be defeated. Not now, not before she even made it out the door. “Remember when we first got together? When you took me to see that holo about that man who lost his wife on a lunar station?”
Devon turned his head toward her. “I remember.”
“Remember how you told me you couldn’t live on the moon because you couldn’t properly hear me sing to you?”
He nodded.
“Devon Freedman, I am sorry to tell you, but we’re on the moon. We may be stuck in dirty old buildings here on Earth, but we’re all in our little space suits and we’re running out of air. Now, normally I’d leave the rescuing up to you, but since you are lying there feeling sorry for yourself, it’s up to me now.”
“Rose, don’t… What do you mean by that? You can’t possibly…You promised to keep that a secret. They’ll catch you.”
“I mean to, my sad little panda, and I will. It’s time for me to sing one last time.”
Rose pressed a tiny button underneath her ear and temporarily disabled her hearing. Devon could yell and scream all he wanted; she knew he wouldn’t call the cops. And the sentries? Well, if some sinister robot was going to shoot her, then so be it. Maybe if someone died, the people will rise up and get that nitwit out of the mayor’s office. Gripping her walker, Rose pulled herself forward and looked at her watch. Three o’clock. In order for her plan to work, she needed to move quickly.
By the time she got to the front door, she had already lost ten minutes. Her mind encouraged her to speed up, but her body betrayed her. It was as if her bones were turning to ice and she’d have to melt her feet to keep moving. “Guess it’s time to try them boots out after all.”
Like its residents and the buildings they lived in, technology was stagnant in the Gray. Medical supplies primarily consisted of donations corporations used for a tax break. Rose didn’t want to think about it, but she suspected some of the experimental equipment used to keep Devon’s muscles from atrophying wasn’t thoroughly tested. Getting new tech to watch a holo or listen to a romance was next to impossible, because none of them made any money. The rule was: you got to keep what you brought in. Thank the stars for her precious grandson, Alex. For Christmas he had sent her a yellow pair of low-gravboots. She told him she didn’t need them; he said they might come in handy some day.
“Today,” Rose thought to herself. “Today is that day.”
It took her another fifteen solid minutes to pull the boots on. Once she did, she felt incredibly light and filled with air. In fact, she was feeling so good about herself, Rose quickly marched on over to the bathroom and did her hair and makeup for the first time in ages. The costume she had was a yellow thing filled with feathers: the gown her kids bought her for their wedding anniversary. Devon said it made her look like a canary.
Inspecting herself in the mirror, Rose liked what she saw: a woman with long, silver hair wrapped in sunshine and happiness. She looked exactly like the cheerful songbird she pretended to be. Only, she wasn’t just a muse inspiring the people to rise up and fight. She was something else, wasn’t she? She was a superhero, the kind her great-grandfather used to talk about. It wasn’t Rose Freedman who was going to liberate the Gray. It was Lady Yellowbird, riding on a silver moonbeam, floating on thin air.
“I’m ready.”
This time, it took her two minutes to make it to the door instead of ten. “Good,” she thought to herself. “Just need my bag and then I’ll be all set.”
Earlier that day, Rose had prepared her pack with everything she’d need on her journey: cough drops, water patches, protein squares, tissues and identcard. She figured the best place to start riling up people was in her own backyard.
Rose turned her hearing back on and slammed the door shut behind her. “Well,” she told herself. “It’s now or never.”
The first unit she stopped at was on the top floor. She knocked loudly, but no one answered. Moving on to the next one, Rose rapped on the door there, too, and had the same result. “Anybody home?” She asked cheerfully when she reached the next unit.
“I’m here.” A man asked, stroking his red beard. “What can I do you for?”
Rose introduced herself as Lady Yellowbird and gave him her speech, just as she rehearsed it. She was about halfway through her plea when he started to laugh. “You’re as crazy as my wife. Sentries’ll come after ye, what with that weird get up and all. Don’t wanna stir up no trouble.”
“Can I talk to your wife or husband?” Rose was feeling a little stupid, now that she was actually out of her unit, but she wasn’t ready to head back home. Not yet.
“Who’s there, Elden? We haven’t had company in ages?”
Elden’s cheeks flushed. “Uh, Bennett, this here lady songbird says she needs singers. For a play, I guess…”
Rose checked her watch. Four thirty. She was starting to think she couldn’t spread the word fast enough. Even with the boots, her legs were brittle and weak. Sooner or later, her age was going to catch up with her. “No play. Just trying to make a statement.”
“Oh, I like the sound of that.” Bennett was a tall, thin man wearing a plaid, shiny suit. If she had to guess, she’d say Bennett was a lot older than he looked. “‘Course, what can we do. Some of those kids tried to protest a while back. No effect.”
“If I sing for you? Will you believe me then?”
“Go for it.”
Rose chose her song carefully, an ancient tune about a boy named Danny from Ireland. The soft notes blossomed in the air like spring flowers in a lush meadow. The mournful sound of bagpipes accompanied her, transporting them to a sunlit glen on the other side of the Atlantic, where they clasped hands to make their final farewells.
By the time she finished her tune, they were all crying. Bennett hugged her fiercely. “I may be a cynic, honey, but you have the voice of an angel. Have you talked to anyone else?”
Laughing, Rose pointed to the lift. “You’re the first one.”
Bennett frowned, “Well, Lady Yellowbird, that won’t do at all. Not if you’re going to get the whole building in on this.”
“I was hoping for all of them. The whole Gray.”
Elden’s eyes opened so wide Rose thought he was going to pop out his implants. Bennett kicked him. “Yeah, we’ll help.”
Bennett also stepped in to reassure her. “We’ll help spread the legend of Lady Yellowbird. Don’t worry your pretty, little head about this building or the next one. We’re fresh off the transport so we know lots of people.”
Doubt broke into her mind. Who was she, anyway? A mother, a grandmother, a wife. Wasn’t that enough? She always knew she had a power, but she used that already, to help rescue hundreds of students all those years ago. Why was she doing this now?
The smiles on the couple’s faces answered all of her questions. Rose knew exactly who she was and what she had to do. Lady Yellowbird would sing with the people, reminding the mayor that he could not (and would not) bury the living. They may be old, but they were still alive, dammit.
Lady Yellowbird placed her hands on her hips. “Thank you, good citizens of the Gray. Where do you suggest I go next?”
“Well, you could start at the end of this block,” Bennett instructed.” You’ll want to head up to the eighth floor and talk to a woman by the name of Amber Jones. We heard about her on the way over, she’s been asking for extra rations for her kitten. Probably knows a few other animal lovers, too.”
“Thank you, kind sirs. Tell the others to meet everyone outside at dawn. You have your orders.”
Bennett saluted her. “Will do, Lady Yellowbird. Good luck!”
***
Lady Yellowbird never understood why the city didn’t want them to have pets, until she showed up at the door of Miss Amber Jones. After a firm knock on her door, Amber opened it a tiny crack.
“Can I help you?” The woman scanned her as if she was some kind of criminal.
“Good citizen, I need your help with–”
“–I don’t wanna talk to nobody.” Amber’s gentle face contorted with pain. “This is my choice and that’s all there is to it.”
Lady Yellowbird frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Miss Jones, but I’m not here about that. I’d like to help you with something a little more…furry?”
“Well, why didn’t you say so? Come in! Quickly…before someone hears…” Amber ushered Lady Yellowbird into her tiny unit. To her surprise, the place was spotless; it smelled like fresh lemons.
“You’ve done a good job with this place,” Lady Yellowbird said. “Where’s the little bit?”
For whatever reason, Amber still looked a little nervous. “Sleeping, right now.”
“What’s wrong, Amber?” She tried to wrap her arm around her, but there was hardly anything there. Underneath layers of patchwork blankets and sweaters, Amber was mostly skin-covered bone. “Do you need something hot? Maybe something to eat?”
Fat tears gathered in Amber’s tear ducts; they dribbled down her worn, leathery face. “I have no money to buy food for Mittens, so I’ve been giving him mine. But he’s so little and he needs his strength to grow…”
Lady Yellowbird never owned a pet, but she understood why someone would starve themselves for a playful, loving thing like a kitten.
“Mittens brings me so much joy. She’s the only thing I have keeping me upright. Without her, you might as well shoot me.”
“Then,” Lady Yellowbird said, “I have a song for you.”
After a few minutes of listening to her sing a jazzy tune about a playful cat, the light returned to Amber’s face. She was glowing.
“Damn those sentries! I’ll spread the word, but I’ll do it for Mittens,” Amber said, wagging a finger at her. “But there’s someone else you’ll need to talk to. He’s an older fellow who’s got the cutest little dog…”
***
By the time eight o’clock rolled around, Lady Yellowbird no longer needed to introduce herself to her neighbors. People were begging for a song and promised to do anything they could to help spread her message. Although Lady Yellowbird didn’t want to give up the fight just yet, the energy in her body was starting to fade. Her body was tired: so, so, tired. It begged her to stop. Sunrise was only a dream away. “One dream too many,” she scoffed.
Her eyes heavy with sleep, as soon as she walked in the door, she set her alarm clock and fell onto her couch. Five minutes later, Lady Yellowbird was flying in the blue skies of a world filled with fluffy clouds, smiling faces and pink roses.
***
The next morning, Lady Yellowbird practically bolted off the couch. She was electrified. Every pore in her body tingled with excitement. The feeling was strange, but not unpleasant. It was simply something she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
While she was fixing her makeup, she warmed up her voice: each note fell from her lips and cracked open like an egg. Soon, hundreds of baby songbirds flitted about the room, singing songs of freedom and bright, summer days.
“Devon, I’ll be back in a little while,” she said as she left their unit. “This’ll all turn out, my love. You’ll see.”
Distracted with the possibility of a better life, Lady Yellowbird took the lift to the lobby and headed outside. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Hundreds of people she’d never met were rooting–for her.
“Lady Yellowbird to save the day!”
“Let’s show that mayor, Yellowbird.”
“Screw those sentries, let’s get out of here!”
A chorus of hoots and hollers went up from the crowd. At the same time, she realized she forgot to charge her boots. They’d be dead within the hour. “Oh well,” she chuckled as she carefully climbed onto a sturdy bench. “Guess these old bones better get started.”
It was a motley group, filled with every color and shape of human imaginable, but it was clear that they all had one thing in common: they all wanted out of the Gray.
At the center of the sea of faces, a small band of friendly, familiar faces waved at her. She laughed when she saw that Amber Jones had brought her kitten, too.
Smiling, Lady Yellowbird began: “Good citizens of the Gray, you have done well. In about five minutes, I am going to ask you to join me in song. This particular tune is one the city of New Chicago and our dear mayor will listen to. Many of you remember what life was like outside the Gray. We had families, we had friends, we had community. Alone and isolated, we will be ignored, forgotten and left to rot. Together, we are mighty. Together, we will crush the sentries with our voices and earn our freedom.”
The applause she received almost overwhelmed her, but Lady Yellowbird stood tall and proud. Still, she couldn’t help but wish that her husband, Devon, was there to hear her sing.
“Rose! ROSE!” She recognized her husband’s voice, but she couldn’t believe her ears. What was he doing outside? He couldn’t walk. He should still be in bed.
“Devon? Where?”
A soft hush fell over the crowd; the people parted like storm clouds after a heavy rain. There, standing in front of her with the help of robotic legs, was her husband Devon.
“But I don’t understand, Devon. How is this even possible? We couldn’t afford them two years ago. How did you get them now?”
Devon laughed. “The sentries, they–”
Sinister rumors worked their way into the crowd, injecting a lethal combination of fear and paranoia into the mood.
Deep down inside, Rose wanted to be excited for Devon, to acknowledge this important and life-changing moment for him, but she was angry. In fact, Lady Yellowbird was furious. “How dare you work with my greatest enemy?” She hissed.
“But Rose, it’s not what you think.”
Lady Yellowbird folded her arms across her chest. “Then tell us, Devon. Why on earth would you accept help from the people that want us dead?”
“You got it all wrong, Rose. The automatic gunners are not real. The sentries were just a story the city made up, to make sure we wouldn’t leave this place. No one’s even seen a sentry, but everyone’s scared to death of them.”
“How do you know this?”
“There was a knock at the door after you left yesterday. I didn’t answer, but that didn’t stop your friend, Bennett. He used his holo and projected a message into my bedroom. When I figured out what you were doing, I called the cops. They drove me over to one of the Tanks and patched me up pretty good.”
The crowd booed. A couple of women nearby threatened to throw him into the trash.
“In exchange for what?”
A look of confusion crossed Devon’s face. “Nothing! I had to meet you here. That’s all.”
Lady Yellowbird knew that couldn’t be the end of it. The Gray Sector wasn’t something the city was going to let go of that easily. The truth was: they were prisoners in this miserable place. “That’s all?”
“Look!” The crowd pointed and whispered at the sky. Dozens of black clad policemen descended from glossy transports; they were packed together like rats on a ship. Armed with blue vibroswords, the cops looked like a legion of dark knights from the days of old. Just when Lady Yellowbird didn’t think it could get any worse, a sickly green holo hovered above the crowd. She recognized the image of the young man. It was the city’s mayor. Her plan was working.
“Citizens of the Gray Sector, you are hereby ordered to turn over Lady Yellowbird to the police and head back to your homes.”
Devon screamed. “No! You said she wasn’t going to be harmed. She’s my wife, you can’t do this…”
Lady Yellowbird closed her eyes and searched for something to hold on to. Although she was scared, more frightened than the day she moved into the Gray, the crowd–people she might one day call her friends–were in danger. Not only that, her husband’s life had been manipulated to find out what she was up to. Bennett, Amber, Elden and so many others were here because of her, because she convinced them to take a stand.
Now it was her turn.
“Mr. Mayor,” she said with grim determination. “I have something for you.” Lady Yellowbird threw her head back and started to sing.
“O-oh say can you seeeeee…”
The notes echoed over the now-riotous crowd, amplified by an invisible force. The first refrain stopped a few sentries in their tracks, but it wasn’t enough. She had to keep singing, louder and stronger than she ever had before.
“By the dawn’s ear-leeee light. What do prooooud-leeee we haaaiiilll…”
This time, the crowd began to chime in. One after the other, their voices added together to create a singular force that echoed into the darkness, pleading the sun to rise, begging for their freedom.
“…the twiiiii-light’s last gleaming…”
When their voices hit “and the rockets’ red glare,” golden rays of warm sunlight spilled through the decaying buildings, killing what little remained of the long night. Devon, her friend and husband and lover, stepped up to join her. Taking his hand in hers, he added his voice to the growing chorus of hope. “This,” Rose thought to herself, “this is what made me strong.” Their love. Their lifetime of memories.
“…the land of the freeeeeeeeeee-eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEE…”
The high note flew high above the crowd and descended over the holographic image of the mayor like a flock of angry valkyries, tearing it to shreds. After the holo winked out, the sound exploded all around them. The blast shorted out the vibroblades with a loud whooshing sound. The officers simply shook their heads: their faces were filled with questions they couldn’t answer. Most of them started to withdraw back to the safety of their transports. A handful took off their glass helmets, sheathed their now-defunct vibroblades, and sang along with the crowd.
“…and the home of the braaaaavvvveeeeeeeeeeeee…”
The last note erupted from Lady Yellowbird’s throat and shook the Sector’s broad electric gates so hard sparks were flying from them. The crowd, now bathed in the colors of the morning light, faced her in unison. They looked to Lady Yellowbird to lead the way out, and that’s precisely what she intended to do.
“Help me down,” she said to Devon. Once she was on the ground, Rose walked slowly–but deliberately–toward the fences that separated them from the rest of the city. The crowd swerved to follow her; they locked arms, creating a block of living tissue that had more heart than muscle.
“It’s a good thing none of those cops were singing, otherwise we’d all be in trouble,” Devon whispered to her.
For whatever reason, Rose’s songs had always shielded her from the bad things in the world. It was a relief to know she could finally use her power for something that truly mattered. Not one of the people in the crowd suffered any aches or pains or had any trouble with their cybernetics. Her music only targeted the people that refused to sing. Fortunately for her, the mayor and the police had no idea a true superhero resided in the Gray, one with a voice that could reach the stars.
“Let’s go see that grandson of mine.” Rose traced one of the wrinkles on Devon’s face, but he turned away, embarrassed. She hoped one day Devon’d be proud of his lines, but she supposed it was just a matter of time. Soon, they’d be waltzing in the streets creating new memories.
“All right, Rose.”
The power in her boots depleted, every step Rose took was a chore. After a while, she knew there’d be nothing left of Lady Yellowbird but the story of a patriotic song and their march to freedom. A living story, one that would go on forever, long after Rose Freedman was gone.
Since those glory days, I have joined the ranks of millions of writers out there who desperately desire they’ll make money doing what they love. While I’ve managed to do okay so far, I haven’t achieved my goals yet. Like anything else I suppose, it’s a love-hate relationship. I love to write, but there are times I hate dealing with the business aspects. 
