A passer-by offers confetti cubes of stale bread, casually thrown into the thicket of wings, and the air is trampled. What does it mean, all that hysterical noise that shakes the air, those elbow wings cutting sunlight, and enfolding space. Birdsong echoes against the clouds. Shrieks that cling as if by claw. Its meaning – maybe notes to heaven, words to the boundless cosmos. Only at night is there quiet.
for #FFFC Fandango’s Flash Fiction Challenge ©Misky 2022 Shared with #amwriting on Twitter