Thursday, July 16, 2009

Flight Risk

“It’s only for a few weeks,” said the officer, a blue and yellow budgerigar in an official cap. Kikri hadn’t asked his name.

“Just do it,” he muttered.

The officer hesitated, then nodded to the black-feathered nurse, who pecked at the keys awkwardly, not using her toes. “Restriction or full grounding?” she asked.


The machine whirred to life. “It won’t hurt,” the budgie assured him, bobbing. “They almost always grow back.”

Kikri extended his wings and allowed them to be guided into the dark recesses of the clipper. Like having your nails trimmed, he told himself. He looked away.


Jim Murdoch said...

Delightfully bizarre. The best bit of flash I've come across in a while.

Scattercat said...

Thank you! That's actually very humbling, unless somehow your reading of flash fiction has been unnaturally stunted compared to your other reading. (Or if "a while" means fifteen minutes.)

The noir-birds have actually been bothering me since I wrote this one. I think they're going to be one of those ideas that just keeps clinging to the back of my mind and periodically poking me insistently, but which don't have quite enough vivacity to survive on their own.