He staggered out of the trees, dripping feathers across the clearing. He’d never been able to fly, of course; his ancestors had long since lost that ability. Now he didn’t even look like he could, his wings ragged, the long guard feathers filthy and worn.
“I told you!” he cried. His eyes gleamed, rolling and red-rimmed, alight from within. “You wouldn’t listen!”
He pointed to the sky, where the blazing red disc hovered in a cloud of darkness. Sizzling tendrils sparked where they brushed against the upper atmosphere.
“I told you all!” he screamed.
The house remained dark and silent.
That Pot Or Vase I Think
1 day ago