Songbird

            I was walking through the park as I normally do. Just drifting along under the trees through the relaxing shade and beautiful sounds of the birds. The birds in the trees with their heavenly songs, whispering their notes on the cool breeze. I decided to take of my shoes and walk barefoot through the grass, something I haven’t been able to do in months. As I step on the cool green path I see something moving out of the corner of my eye. As I get closer I realize it is a bird, a cardinal. Its fierce red is burning against the cool green as it twitches and flops around. I move in closer and see that its wing has been injured. There is a little blood on the bird and the grass around it. The bird is attempting to fly. The determination and persistence not wavering a bit it tries again. No success. The bird will certainly die within a few hours. A young woman is watching the bird as well from a distance. She seems afraid to see the pain and eminent death of the bird and keeps her space. She is wearing some sort of scrubs as if she is a doctor. I wonder how a doctor could be afraid of death and pain. I motion her to come forward and she doesn’t budge. She looks on with a sense of longing in her face.

            The bird has stopped its futile attempts. Its black crown glistening in the early morning sun and its chest rapidly expanding and retracting. Its eyes are black. The bird has tired and is no longer trying to fly. It begins to sing. Very softly at first, then louder. It seems to be calling to something. Then it stops. The breeze stops. I look into the sky to see few clouds. Both I and the woman go on our way.

past, present, future

      They’ve been looking for me for several years. More than I care to remember, but I know exactly how long down to the minute. Its what I’ve been trained to do. What I did, I will never forget. It was an accident, or at least I think it was. That is if I did it at all. Some parts of my life are unclear and more of a fog than a solid image. I used to try and figure things out but now I see no point in it. As I am sitting in the booth at The Café, looking out the window I see a man peering right back at me. He has on a long brown coat and slacks. A bus drives by and then he is gone.

“I fit the profile”, they said. I was very careful, precise, and most of all, untrusting. I had intensive training that seemed to last years. One day I realized it was the real thing. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it though, for I had some of the best times of my life while under contract. I just got tired of it. While I got to see the world and travel it became a hassle. So I decided to get out. I started a family. I had never loved something so much. They meant everything to me. I couldn’t imagine life without them until I got the call.

I remember the man's voice on the phone. It was deep and resounding but light enough to sound official and not too savage. It had a bit of gravely undertone and seemed to be a little sympathetic. I had to leave. It was for their own good. Just as my father left his family, I had to leave my family.

Murder?

I was pretty good until my injury. I was even college-bound. Now all I do is watch, sit and watch. I always feel restless when I watch. Its a feeling of desire and want that is more emotional then physical. Out there I had everything. I was everything. I sat and watched until there was only one man left. Then there was no one left. Just me and this place that is so familiar but distant. I start to walk out there sensing a faint feeling that is fading quickly as I realize the pointlessness of my pursuit.

I turn and head back and see someone out of the corner of my eye. They seem to be running towards the abandoned building to my left. There is someone chasing them. The dark figures move quickly. Dashing under a streetlight I can make out the first man. It was the man who just left. Still in his white tshirt and shorts. The man chasing him was wearing a simple zip up hoodie and either a blue or black shirt with some white writing on it and jeans. He was holding something in his left hand that reflected in the light. He followed the first man into the building. I hear a sort of banging and crash. Seconds later the man wearing the hoodie comes out with his hands in his pockets and looks around briefly then casually walks away.

Christ is born, someone dies

Its almost Christmas. One of the times of the year I fear and envy the most. The snow covers nearly everything with its ever white cascading face. Its so cold all the time. There is barely any kind of warmth anywhere and if it is there than its usually falsified and manufactured by some company somewhere pushing the 'holiday spirit' upon everyone of the naive consumers. I once bought into the flashiness of the Christmas Yule until I wised up and saw it for what it truly is.
One person I’ve never liked is Elvis. He just creeps me out, always has. I just really don’t understand why anyone would dress up like him, especially around Christmas. There is one thing however that I look forward to every year.
As I open the doors, the smell gently wafts into my nostrils and I feel the familiar warmth of the stoves on my freezing face. I quickly jump in line and grab a plate. Turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, beans of all sorts, rolls, salads, hot chocolate, egg nog. Needless to say I load my plate and take a seat next to one of the three Santa’s in the room. I keep to myself eating my meal rather hastily yet I savor every delicious bite. This is the best meal they have here all year every year.
I leave and take a stroll down the well lit street with all the wreaths around the light poles, heading towards the church to seek some refuge from the cold. I cross the street and all of a sudden I hear a metallic grinding. I turn to my left and I see a slim figure coming straight for me. I try to move but I am a little too late. The handlebar clips me and I stumble backward. I fall straight back as I slip on the ice and poorly catch myself with my hand. An excruciating pain shoots up my arm and my hand goes numb. I attempt to get up but slip and fall again this time tucking my arm in and taking the brute force on my back which now hurt almost as much as my hand. I struggle to get up and make my way down and across the street stumbling and clutching my hand and my back. I pass by yet another Santa who is collecting money and I realize that I have made it to the church. I collapse on the stairs