I slip the bird out of his hood and release him. He rubs his wings against the air, getting a feel for the friction of the thing. He ripped the air down past him and fired into the air.
I cried.
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I will make you cry tears of blood. Get ready to be depressed.
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I love that-- especially the way you treat air as a tangible substance.
ReplyDeleteI did say "air" three times, though. So, I'm really peeved at myself for not noticing that for such a long time.
ReplyDelete