Some see the world as being huge, and some see it as a tiny speck in a much grander universe. Somewhere between these extremes lies the general consensus, that the world is a deciduous breeding ground for giant blue-feathered killing machines. "General Consensus" here refers to the consensus according to Pete, a recently escaped house parakeet making his way through a backyard woodland.
Pete could not see enough of the world to call it small, nor could he think that his own was all that big; it consisted mostly of three poplars, one elm, an angry resident blue jay, and a squirrel that passed the time by challenging him to a rodent-versus-avian staring contest.
Pete let out a chirp that in human terms would translate to a sigh. The mother blue jay sat in her nest high atop the adjacent poplar. Pete made sure of this before diving to the ground to feast on a few worms. Primal parakeet instinct caused him to screech before, during, and after the meal, thus drawing undue attention to himself from above.
The territorial blue jay did not take kindly to other birds eating her food supply, so she left her nest briefly to ward off the intruder. She stunned Pete with a claw to the beak and knocked him over. The parakeet spread his wings and took off immediately. The jay chased after him, but since she was the slightly larger of the two, the smaller bird soon learned he could outmaneuver her in flight. He raced into the underbrush and made several sharp turns. His last turn was right in front of a tree trunk, and surely enough, the jay bolted right into it, not having seen it through the grass.
Pete went to inspect the jay, his little heart pounding. She was knocked out, but not dead. He then flew up to the jay's nest and looked the eggs over carefully; if he stayed here, there would soon be three more birds to deal with. He lifted off once more, this time determined to find a new set of trees to stay at. Flying into the sunset, he wondered if he would ever find a true home.