Part II

Blindly trying to finish the buttoning of your flannel jacket while making way through the yard towards the open familiar field now filled with mystery and intrigue, a huge flock of early winter black birds erupt from the ground in unity. Stopping you immediately in the oblivious tracks making way to the unknown and soon to be unwanted destiny just beyond the moving screen of wings. Catching your breath that was taken away along with the focus of the moment, you realize the sky has gone void of any color or background. You are suddenly in a black and white photo with no sound or movement despite the super cell of grackles and starlings forming above and around you. The biting chill of morning air fades from your cheeks giving way to the warm silent wing driven winds becoming stronger and wider as the shape shifting cloud grows denser. Hypnotized by the beautiful symphony warning you to run back to the safety of your window feeders, hands at your side with head tilted up, you feel the ground begin to move beneath the untied insulated boots you slipped on as you ran out the door.

The hair on the back of your neck rises making you aware of the goosebumps fanning out across your scalp like tiny dull pins pricking at your brain under the crooked beanie you don’t recall even putting on. Instinctual sirens begin to sound throughout your entire body bringing you back to the immediate reality to which you have just placed yourself front and center. Before your very eyes that burn from not blinking, a dark shape starts to take form within the now solid cylinder of ominous beaks and eyes calling to you. Do really see the red-winged black birds transform into a giant eye? Are they red flapping feathers or flicking flames in the pulsating iris? Screams rush down from above, so you look up. Like a black avalanche being called by the sound to follow, color appears beyond the ebbing tide of birds. It’s beautiful. It’s dangerous. It is a fate unfolding from the heavens bore from the depths of your new hell.

The irony of your flight or fight primal instinct has not escaped you, much like your attempt to turn and run from an eye seizing you with its talon-ed lashes. In the seconds of infinity and right before a blinking pupil swallowed you whole, the warm house in which you left of your own free will beckons your return. White smoke bellows from the wood stove pipe as it curls across the roof top like a Hawaiian dancer calling to its beloved ocean. Sitting on the ledge of their feeders are your beautiful bird friends indifferent to the actions of its brethren birds. Reaching out in hopes the face in the window watching will see your plea for help before……..your world goes black…….

To be continued………

This is a short story I wrote for fun inspired by a possible truth. I will reveal a piece at a time. I hope it peaks your interest enough to come back and find out what happens to you……..

Beyond the Feeders I