It’s not every day that I see her. So when I do, I’m about to fly. A sudden burst of wings, a flutter of black then white, then I’m away. Like those magpies that lurk round the bushes. Three of them, there were. As far as I could see anyway.
They were there when she came up from the station. She was on the phone, that tiny pink phone of hers, and grinning.
She shouted “Oh my God!” and I shrank. I’m not flying anymore, I’m spitting feathers and they won’t settle. They just won’t.
She’s gone now. Gone with that little soft giggle of hers. Gone with that little pretty mouth of hers. The lips. The tongue. Tasty.
I kicked the bushes. Wings flapped and started. Why should they be happy? Damn birds. Damn wings.