CRUMBS [a short novella]

Chapter 4: pizza crust

The silence between the two birds was agonizing. Maybe not for the country bird, but for this head bobbing, park frequenting, city Pigeon, things were getting pretty awkward. It was about time that Parker decided he'd break this silence. After all, this was his city. Mind you, the ladies are not his specialty. At least the human ones weren't.

She's gotta talk to me. Parker re-assured himself, hoping that his ego wouldn't soon be broken by a creature that was only three inches high. I mean country gals love the city boys ... right?

Without an answer from the sky on this matter, Parker built up a little courage, stretched out his plume filled neck, and prepared to speak.

"Hi there, my name is Parker! What's your name?"

Not a sound in return. Just silence. A big and awkward, back alley of a pizza shop, silence.

"Uhhuuumm!" Parker coughed. Hoping that it would turn her around. Instead, Parker sounded like a very ill bird indeed. Perhaps he was getting too personal by asking for her name. Maybe alien birds didn't have names.

"So...what brings a little bird like you to this big city?"

Still nothing.

Parker was now beginning to lose his nerve. His muscles tightened one after the other. First the ones around his beady eyes, then around his neck and wings. Between the getting hit by a newspaper and a bird, being ignored was the last straw.

Last time somebody ruffled Parker's feathers this much, it was 2009. The Subprime Mortgage Crisis sent one investor's discretionary income for a steep nosedive. With golfing now an unaffordable leisurely activity, Mr.Hedgefund took up pigeon chasing. Let's just say when Parker lost his nerve, this once-upon-a-time-bigshot got a nice giant Pigeon blob on his head. After that, Mr.Hedgefund never bothered Parker, or any other pigeon, ever again.

"Yo Lady!", he bellowed. Now his right claw was digging into the pavement, and his left claw was unintentionally piercing into an abandoned pizza crust. "Unless you want to hang out with The Humans and that harmed wing, then you better get used to me! Don't think your so special or anything!"

The little bird stopped her slight quiver of fear and turned her head to give Parker a stern look.

"Oh I'm special alright!" she said as she lifted her little leg in the air. She was showcasing her bright blue band. "It's a bracelet, and no one but me and ten of my kind has one! It's special and it's fashionable."

Parker did not like the way this little bird said "my kind". She was just a bird like him, Patricia, and Pedro. They were all birds of a feather, and at the end of the day, all birds can get whacked in the face (especially by freshly Windex cleaned windows).

Parker shot back at her now. "Look, I walk 5th avenue everyday lady, and I can tell you one thing: that is not fashion!"

He leaned over to make out the little squiggles on her self proclaimed 'bracelet'.

"Ceeerrrruulllleaaannnn-Warrrrrblller" he read aloud. Hmmm, Cerulean Warbler. I've read these words before.

Unfortunately, nothing immediately came to mind. Parker's frustration was now replaced with speculation. Because when you have a bird brain, these type of things take a little longer to figure out.

The little bird pulled her leg away before he could finish off the rest of the squiggles. "Where did you learn to read?" she questioned harshly. She didn't like the thought that Parker could read what she could not.

"I learned from my great grandmother who..." he paused mid-sentence realizing that if an alien wasn't about to share her name, he wasn't about to share his family history.

"We should get some sleep," Parker said with a sigh. "It's been a long day".

With that, Parker kicked nearby pizza crusts over to the little bird, who then piled them high around her. After six crusts and a couple of crumbs, this little bird had built quite the starchy nest.

"Parker?"

This time Parker kept silent.

"Setophage. My name is Setophage", said the little bird.

"Goodnight Seto...", Parker whispered, as the words 'Cerulean Warbler' repeated itself in his head. Weird bird, weird name, weird bracelet, Parker thought, as Seto softly hummed a sleepy snore.

Parker was especially concerned about the human inscriptions on that bright blue band. Someone was keeping tabs on this little bird with that name tag. Just like humans keep tabs on their dogs, and just like humans keep tabs of ... PRISONERS.

Now Parker knew one of two things could be true. Either this bird was special, or this bird was a highly dangerous killer on the loose!

Forget newspaper nightmares. Tonight, Parker was sleeping with one eye open.