“Fly! Fly, Chirp!” The miniscule yellow sparrow sighed as his mother squawked out her insistent commands. He knew it was virtually impossible for him to take flight.
    
Before he was born, his mother had unwisely accepted rotten worms from an old crow out in the woods on a dark and dreary night; there was no other food to scrounge for. That was before the bird society became suspicious of crows, deceptive creatures that they are, and Chirp’s mother really had no other choice besides starving, which would be a death wish for both her and her unborn baby.
    
The mud-caked worms were quite dangerous to eat, and they ended up cursing poor baby Chirp with stubs for wings, not wide nor feathered enough to lift him up into the air.
    
Nevertheless, his mother convinced herself that flight could still be conceived, and every dawn Chirp made a fool of himself with useless attempts of flight.
    
That particular morn the sun beamed brightly, and Chirp made a magnificent jump, certain he could delight his mother by fitting in a few strokes of wing (or stub). . . .
    
Meanwhile, people filed into the H. M. Morris auditorium, waiting to see a critically acclaimed musical.
    
The set designer massaged her forehead in frustration. The origami bird, a vital prop, was missing, and the announcer was already introducing the play. The performance would make no sense without the ornate bird, specially designed to be held up by a fan to mimic flight.
    
Just as the play began, Chirp launched himself into the air, attempting to at least hold up for a matter of seconds, but to no avail. Instead, he rocketed down the chimney of a sturdy brick building, certain he would fall to his death. To his surprise, a fan in the midst of some sort of production held him up.
    
The audience applauded wildly, because Chirp had arrived just at the part of the play where the bird was needed!
    

Both Chirp and the play were saved from their downfall, and Chirp’s mother finally accepted him just the way he was.