Author: Ami Asija, Class XI E
A reddish afternoon, she looked like a bird, a species that doesn’t exist, but a bird nonetheless… my thoughts tried to compare the beaks, feathers, wings, claws, and eyes of all those I knew to her features.
I’m sure I’ve stared long enough, but since the bird hasn’t noticed it yet, I should stare some more, read her more.
Her perky neck turns to me giggling, chirping out “I really don’t get it!”
“What?”
“Crows!”
“Crows…”
“How could one possibly call them a murder?”
“It’s a word.” I shrug
“It’s an act.”
She leaves me stunned for a split second, going back to feeding the crows, deeper into the park.
“What would you call them?” I follow.
“Bleachers!”
I kneel beside her, focused on the crows. “And why is that?”
“It feels…black… beautiful… soft… and it holds a craving for survival.”
“It’s also your favorite band.”
She scoffs knowing her poetic words only held one truth, red embarrassment washing over her cheeks.
A red afternoon washing down her neck, flightless, lifeless.
Indeed, a splitting act, final mercy upon a survivor.
The Murder in the air.
I finally knew what bird she was.
