Birdseye

Bird Song.

(This chapter won't make sense unless you listen to the song so yeah, might wanna do that first)

Felicity Whitehouse stood motionless on her front porch, gazing out onto the slowly setting sun which filled the sky with beautiful and nearly magical colours. But Felicity didn't care for any of them. They were just colours, no? No. She was watching a small sparrow hop to and fro on the branches of the oak tree that stretched from her neighbours garden to her garden. It set up a nest and was singing a soothing and sweet melody, like a lullaby. Felicity could hear the lyrics. It least that's what she believed. It was singing about her, how charming, and about how mad, insane and cruel she had become. How charming. Felicity was afraid all the neighbours would hear.

The minutes passed, the bird didn't stop singing, it just grew louder and clearer. Felicity, being the mad crone she was, lured the bird inside. She thought she was casually talking to the bird, trying to reason with him and promising she wouldn't do it again. She would. Instead, she had just put some bird feed inside and the poor little mite just happily and blindly flew inside, unaware. Felicity slipped of the edge of reality, and was now completely gone. Everything she saw and heard wasn't real, but everything she did, was. Remember that.

The bird sang louder and louder inside the house, and now she couldn't get him out. So Felicity managed to trap him under a cardboard box, and stood on it to make him stop. Felicity picked up the bird, muttered quietly, "That's the last song you'll ever sing." She held him down, broke his neck, taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.

Felicity came back, and looked around, a small bird lay dead in her hand and a crumpled cardboard box at her feet. What she did, what she does, is always real. Most of the time. She stood up, holding the dead carcass and turned on the stove. "This bird will make an okay supper before sleep," Felicity explained to thin air. She threw the carcass into a pan, not bothering to clean it first;she didn't care about any of that. She couldn't even be bothered to pluck out any of the feathers, or eyes, or beak, or feet. They're also edible, aren't they?

After devouring that poor little bird, Felicity happily dragged her feet to her bedroom and went to sleep.