“The boy at the shop across the road keeps staring at our house and smiles whenever I come to the window. Yesterday, I slapped him for that. I am not that kind of girl.”
She repeated her story for the tenth time and looked out of her window at the shop with evident pride. The boy was smiling while he stared at another house. Her face fell.
Every evening when I go out to forage for food, I see her returning home. The last of the sun glints through her brown glossy feather as she glides through the air in all her regal glory.
She lives on the tallest tower in front of my humble tree and I have worshipped her for all the three years of my existence.
But as a creature of night with wiry, featherless body and jerky flying skills, I wish I was worth her.
I don’t think she knows I exist…
Short Stories | Fish-eye Perspective 