I would rather be empty. The thing that sits inside of me does not have a beating heart; it lies on my metal bars, its feathers strewn about, like a scattering of leaves from an autumn tree. Its eyes are open but see nothing. They are shining black beads inside its head.
Not far away, a woman weeps. She tries to stife her sobs with her hands, but they escape. A man wraps his arm around her to attempt to stop her from shaking. I can feel the shudder. I'm not used to this; humans don't usually cry for animals. It penetrates my metal core.
The woman murmurs unusual sounds in her native language. The man replies, his voice softer than hers. She suddenly stands, surprising the male, who jumps back. She walks towards me and grabs me in her arms, shaking me up and down so the bird bounces around within my confinements. The woman screams.
I want the bird to leave. I want it out. I don't like the way its corpse feels on my not-flesh, the way it's still a tiny bit warm, which, if I were a living creature, would make me want to throw up all over the beige carpet upon which the woman stands. Open the door, my insides cry out to the furious being so eager to rattle me back and forth. Take out that disgusting thing that once breathed as I never will.
She doesn't listen, instead throwing me at the wall. My metal body screeches and dents at the force of the collision; I hit the floor, a fresh spattering of bird blood soaking my insides.
And here I lie.