“You have to do something,” Rachel tries again.
It’s no use, you can’t do what she asks. You take a drink of water, but it doesn’t quench your thirst. You eat the half sandwich set in front of you, but it doesn’t taste of anything. None of it makes a difference.
Later on that day a bird will fly into your bedroom window. It will land on its back onto the windowsill, one wing flapping, the other merely twitching, and you will not care. But you will know how the bird feels. The bird has something you do not. You don’t need a broken wing to stop you.
YOU ARE READING
Broken Wings
Short Story"Describe an emotion or feeling without using the word. Show, don't tell."
