They would never stop.

She used to love the sight of birds on a rooftop, electric wires, even clotheslines. She used to feed them in the park, throwing crumbs and other leftover sandwich bits to the flock that would land on the concrete and nibble at her feet. But they were not content.

They wanted more.

Soon, she noticed the flock flying behind her car as she drove home from work, the store, the school. They would line up behind her like children behind the Pied Piper, only these children had coal black eyes and hearts to match. They were hungry, and they wanted more.

She would look out her window at work to see them pecking at the glass. Soon she lost her job. She went home to find them rustling in the chimney, which she blocked with furniture; ensuring her isolation she huddled in the corner. Her house became her prison, until one day the bank evicted her from even its dark shelter.

Now, she had no shelter. Public buildings spat her back upon the street. Her clothing bedraggled and torn, her eyes wild, her person haggard. She was unfit for other company. Now the birds were her only companions.

As she huddled beneath the worn blanket, they watched her with hungry eyes.