Some rotten git had destroyed the nest. Only one chick survived. I cradled him all the way home. Mum made up a 'nest' in a shoebox and I went out digging for worms.
'He don't want worms just yet' my mum said and she brought a bowl of bread soaked in warm milk.
That's how Sammy the Song Trush came to stay.
As he grew older he began to hop around the house. My brother would lay on the floor with a Pot Noodle and Sammy would perch on the rim and pick out the noodles. We all found this...
She was the most delicate girl in town. I liked to think of her as something made out of matchsticks, and knobby joints. Her voice, it never seemed to mature, even as she stretched into a teenager, and curves set in, she would still skitter on her toes, and wring her hands, and never make eye contact.
The crush I developed on her was no not so unusual, I think the whole town was in love with her in their own way, male, female, child, animal. Girls like that aren't meant to last if you think about it. Those quiet...
Starvation.
He'd heard the word before, used it - but he hadn't known what it meant. He knew that now. He had no idea of what it really meant, not until now, not until this moment (but he knew it would continue to get worse until he could eat, of course it would, that gnawing inside would only get worse)
His vision was failing, he was dizzy - he needed something, needed to find something to eat, or he would -
He knew it with a painful clarity. He would die.
Again.
It had been bad enough the first time...
Mr. Marlin calls it the "war effort" though it's not a war. I see effort, but not of a thoughtful variety. Everyone involved is dressed in the same color. Any tool is a weapon. They'll be murdered, the whole lot of them.
"I told you this day would come," shouts Mr. Marlin. Imagine waiting on such a horrible day. It was only morning but the skies were growing dark. Cloudless and dark. He threw a croquet mallet at me.
I stared at it like it was a frozen dog.
The red gown was more of a crimson really. I wasn't sure why she had taken it just to sit down at a doorway just down the street. She had shown up with enough money for a new garment, I'd given it to her and she'd just sort of walked aimlessly down to the doorway and sat down.
It kind of made me hate her. I know you shouldn't hate little girls but I hated this bullshit. I mean, seriously, just leave. Don't make me sit there and wonder about what the fuck is going on. Like, I don't need...
Kent had hardly taken a full breath when he burst out again into another rant. Another renegade of answers that had no match for questions. He was surely speaking Greek. Kelsey, However was speaking Russian. And there was a glass Wall between them. Kelsey knew no Greek, Kent knew no Russian. They separate to attempt to salvage the relationship that always had been. Neither was sure when the Communication Break down had occurred. Both knew it was absurd. That's When Kelsey Hired a translator, and put an end to the bloodshed.
I don't even notice as he walks up behind me and presses something into my hand. "See you later," and he's gone. I open my palm and see the huge plastic easter egg that he gave me. It's a light purple and blank, no clues. Carefully, hopefully, I open it up. "Please, please let there be a note inside. Please." I pop it open and look inside. Nothing. But it's not empty. It's full of disappointment. Disappointment and a single tear.
The conversation lasted two words: Alright? ...Yeah
It wasn't groundbreaking, it wasn't revolutionary, it wasn't even poetry, but it was all they needed to say.
They had been the best of friends once, closer than brothers. George had had his own room at Jack's house, Jack had had his own shelf in George's fridge. But somewhere along the way, they had lost that.
Was it because Lissy, George's ex-girlfriend had hated Jack, was it because of the fact that Jack went off to uni while George stayed in their hometown, or had it merely been because of the fact that...
The birds had not come in last night and now they would be lost.
Common birds! She spat twirling a small gold spoon in her coffee clattering nervously on the edge of the doll like cup.
So long years of sorrow, so long back breaking toil. The training, the binding of tiny claws the midnight dropper feedings. All of it for nothing. Now they would peck at trash and pretend to get excited when they heard the fog horns of a garbage trawl.
Why do I bother? She picked a tiny scar at the corner of her mouth and drank...
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