She stood precariously at the edge, waiting, just waiting for that shove. A little one was all she needed, her heels teetering on the concrete ledge. The others flew high above her in the Spanish square, filling the air with a chorus of chirps. She glanced down again.
It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.
It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.
She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.
The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.
Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.
It was quite a drop from the top of the bell tower. The sun, friendly and warm, embraced the square with his rays. She felt the warmth on her soft feathered back while she pondered.
It had happened before; her wings always saved her from the fearsome jaws of death. She had leapt off that same bell tower too many times before, but her feathered, light but strong structure always opened against the wind beneath her, swooping her away from the cold, hard concrete so far below.
She smiled.
They won't be able to save her this time.
Only hours ago had she chanced upon some string at the market square, abandoned but still good. The woolen twine was short, there was just enough to tie both wings together. Siesta was always the best time of day, when the stallholders closed their shops and left behind scraps of food to pick at. Sweet melons, small strips of meat, even berries that rolled astray.
The others were picking at them now, feasting greedily. The chirping subsided as they ate, to a murmur barely audible. She got ready to leap, and then sprang forward in one swift movement.
Falling, her wings struggled in their bound state, straining at the twine to break free, but no, the string, however flimsy it seemed, had the strength of a thousand hands. They bound her and they did so tightly, and she fell to the ground, her eyes wide open, her pupils smiling.
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