Birds-eye

Birds-eye, pt 7

Once outside, I find a stairs just asking to be swooped down over, so I oblige. There's some fun to be had in it, too. A short but fast way down, a sudden, urgent need for pulling up. A bird could spend right the afternoon here. Too bad the ladies can't see me working it here. I'm so excited with the stairs and all, I hardly take note of the voices rising from somewhere below. Only when there's cryings, when she's crying, I remember I am on a mission. I make a sharp cure, putting me right in the direction of the sound. It has changed into a sobbing, long hard sighs interfering with short and hasty sniffs. I settle down on the banisters, pondering my next move and that's when I notice it. It starts slowly, a shivering, like a cat's walking over my grave, but soon it turns into the sickly presence, enough to make me nauseous. The smell of blood.

I know what y'all thinking. I made my own nest, now I should lie in it. But I just can't help myself. I like humans. Somehow, they don't seem to really live in this world alltogether. They always appear to have a better place to go to. It makes one wonder what kinda place that would be. Where could be better than here, where they are lording it over everything? That's what I don't get about them. It sho takes a lot to satisfy them, more probably, than this world has to offer. Or perhaps what the world offers would content them if only they could take notice of it. But their own dreams got them so ensnared, they walk around with their eyes narrowed.

Previous parts:
Birds-eye, part 1
Birds-eye, part 2
Birds-eye, part 3
Birds-eye, part 4
Birds-eye, part 5
Birds-eye, part 6