More pass me by as I crawl to the grass to die.
Wings weren't made for this. I wasn't made for this. Why didn't they stop?
Friday Flash Fiction |
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This isn't what they were intended for. They were built to cut through the air, to soar, not to pull me along the blacktop. That is all they can do now. The thing came when I wasn't looking, and now my legs don't work. I cannot find a perch. I cannot find the air beneath me. Face down, I look into the black death, hard and sticky in the heat.
More pass me by as I crawl to the grass to die. Wings weren't made for this. I wasn't made for this. Why didn't they stop?
Lynn Messing
2/8/2022 11:33:14 pm
I still vividly recall a long-ago memory of seeing a blue jay get run over. A part of my childhood innocence ended that day.
Rashna Walton
3/8/2022 12:42:39 am
eeek, my heart goes out to all creatures who fall foul of our desire for speed.
Sue Clayton
3/8/2022 04:01:02 am
Just a little slower and this bird might still be alive to flap its wings.
Mimi Grouse
3/8/2022 10:24:59 am
Please stop. Little lives deserve to be saved.
Angela Carlton
4/8/2022 01:49:17 am
A unique perspective from the bird's POV, with a sad, realistic ending.
Adrian McRobb
8/8/2022 12:26:09 pm
Made me very sad Comments are closed.
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"Classic"
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