Snow White: Book 2 Chapter 2

Verse 1
Birds flew overhead.

A flock of poor fledglings

whose mother had died.

"Why...? Why?"

"Momma...? Momma?"

Innocent chirps as strong as a blade

penetrated the ears, the heart.

"Shut up!"

Who was it that cried out,

unable to bear it any longer?

She knew the answer.

Bird:

Where's Momma?

I'm hungry!

Parrah:

Ahh! So noisy!

Stupid Chicks!

Noya:

Kill 'em like you did their mother.

Parrah:

Kill 'em!

Show 'em justice!

Snow:

Silence... And that goes for you, too!

Verse 2
Please, fledglings...

Please don't blame me

with your pretty chirping.

Verse 3
I killed your mother.

But I did nothing wrong.

It was done in the name of justice.

My justice.

Verse 4
The little ones used their innocence

to fault her adult logic.

They asked her what justice was.

Verse 5
Everyone has a wish.

Everyone carries emotions of their own.

So when the two collide,

it is the weaker that disappears.

Verse 6
Is strength justice? Is weakness evil?

No. The truth lies elsewhere.

But...I am not sure it lies here.

Verse 7
The fledglings continued to condemn me.

I grabbed one of them

and began to pluck its wings.

Verse 8
This is cruelty, a baby bird shrieks.

I grab it

and slice open both of its legs.

Verse 9
I'm alright. I'm alright. I'm alright. I'm all right.

I'm... right.

Verse 10
"Momma, Momma, Momma..."

The babies chirped.

The babies cried.

The weight of their stolen lives,

the sheer size of what Snow had taken

forced her to understand her sin.

"It's fine if you want to give up,"

Parrah and Noya said in sickly whispers.

"...Don't be ridiculous.

I am justice!"

Snow shouted.

Snow:

I am never wrong!

Parrah:

So you killed her?

Snow:

That's right.

For I am Justice.

Noya:

That's why you kill?

Snow:

Yes. Because

I am Justice!

A flock of baby birds lay at her feet.

Soft. Small. Lifeless.

Though they deserved protection,

Snow cut them down without mercy.

"I am right.

I am justice."

Screams echoed.

"I'm sorry," she said in their shadow.

Tears stained her cheeks as the fledlings'

blood stained her white dress.

Discordant Poem
The baby birds had lost their mother.

One of two things awaited them.

Starving, or becoming prey themselves.

If you feel for the motherless birds,

then gift them a gentle death

with your own bare hands.

Break their soft little necks. Snap.

The souls of the fallen fledglings

flew back to their mother's wing.

That was a saving grace, if any.