The Dead Game by Susanne Leist
Wednesday, July 6, 2016
THE BIRD
The bird waits.
Sitting on its perch.
Eyes to the wind.
What is he waiting for?
Will he know when he sees it?
Wait.
His wings are spreading out.
About to take flight.
He lets out a screech.
He’s looking…
He’s looking at me.
Time to go.
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