The raucous noise woke him. Woke him from a dream of the past, the nightmare that invaded his sleep. He thought at first, that the sound was part of the dream, part of the memories he tried to clamp down. Memories he avioded succesfully during the active nights, when survival was the only thought that mattered. But he never managed to keep them at bay during the day, when only sleep was possible, hidden from the brightness, from the intensity of the sun under the blueness of the sky. Then the memories came back; the sights, the smells and now the sounds of the world destroyed.
He crept from his dark hidey hole, as the call of something wild that tugged at his conscious mind and looked up, hand shading his eyes.
There on the lamppost that no longer lit anything, sat the bird. Pure white, head bobbing, it's bright yellow crest raising as each call split the daytime.
A bird. A live bird, healthy by its clean feathers, its loud call.
Maybe survival was possible.
2 comments:
Sounds like end of the world kinda sf ;) Hope you don't feel like that
Nah, I just let the words come as they come.
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