“It Won’t Kill Anyone…”
A group of teenagers stood and talked loudly at the end of a quiet street. Two boys and a girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. The girl was called Katy. Her friends were Bill and Charley. School had ended about half an hour ago and they were just hanging about, talking, complaining and swearing casually. Bill was cursing a teacher who had given him detention for not knowing the capital of Malaysia.
“Honestly,” he sighed. “I didn’t think I would ever get out of that stupid classroom!”
“You were s’posed to memorize the capitals for homework, remember?” Katy giggled.
“Like I have nothing better to do,” he scoffed.
“Maybe this will cheer you up Billy,” grinned Charley, bringing out a dark bottle filled with amber liquid. Bill grabbed it thankfully and took a swift swig before offering it to Katy. She backed away, holding her hands up. “No way. You can get drunk for all I care but keep me out of this.”
“What?” said Bill. “Come on, don’t be a drag. Take some.”
“Nah. Let her run,” shrugged Charley. “So long as she doesn’t grass on us. She won’t anyway. She’s a wimp!” He grinned nastily at her, showing his yellow teeth.
“I’m not,” she snapped back. “I just don’t want to get a hangover.”
“Just take some,” demanded Bill. “It won’t kill anyone.”
She took the bottle and sipped tentatively. There wasn’t much left in the bottle. Not enough to get drunk by anyway. It was strong and tangy and revolting. She gagged and her friends laughed. She downed the whole bottle in one gulp and threw it carelessly away.
Later, the teenagers went away to watch football on Bill’s TV.
The bottle still lay there, smashed in the middle of the road, the dark glass glinting in the sun like black crystals.
Mr. Peters was going to pick up his son at the airport. Suddenly his car was jolted as if he had gone over a speed bump and the whole thing sagged to one side. Mr. Peters swore. The tyre must have burst. He got out and walked round to the front bumper. Bending down, he saw the cause. A bottle had been smashed on the road and had pierced his tyre.
He had swept up the remaining glass so no other drivers would be forced to stop. He found a tiny piece of the glass was still in the tyre.
He found the small, incredibly sharp piece. He glanced at it with little interest before chucking it in the grass beside the pavement where he thought it would cause no more harm.
A fat, black and white bird was perched on a tree next to the road. Every now and again, a car or a bus would roar past and the magpie would bolt quickly to the uppermost branches fearfully, squawking indignantly. Then she would fly back down to her original branch, tail twitching, until the next vehicle came that way.
Something shiny caught her eye. A miniature piece of green glass. In a flurry of feathers, she had landed on the ground and was hopping forward, trying to get a better view of what she had seen. It was very pretty and the magpie wanted to take it to make her nest. She scooped it up in her beak and beat her wings, taking off effortlessly.
To get to her nest, she had to cross the airport. It wasn’t far but she had to be careful. Her friends had warned her of giant birds that nested in the airport and hunted on little birds like magpies and pigeons and seagulls. She flew, her legs tucked under her and her wings flapping, expertly catching the right updrafts and propelling her forwards.
She was racing up a wide strip of gray land like a road only much wider, divided down the middle with long, white lines. Suddenly there was a roar behind her and, without moving her head, she swiveled round to see not a bird as her friends had told her, but a huge machine. She shrieked and quickened her pace. She was high up from the ground, the giant bird machine was going in to land. It was colossal and evil looking. The wings were spread out an incredible length and were oddly stiff. They didn’t flap like normal birds’ wings.
It was gaining on her. She could escape. She was lighter, faster than that big, heavy beast. The piece of glass still clutched in her beak slowed her down. But she didn’t want to let go of it.
She was being sucked backwards now. No longer moving forwards but backwards into a gaping black hole on the bird machines wings. It was so close. Feet away.
It was over in seconds. One moment, the magpie was frantically pumping her wings in a desperate attempt to survive, the next...nothing. She never had a chance.
Katy stared glumly at the television screen in her kitchen. Her mum was watching the news. The newsreader looked grim as he spoke about an explosion at the airport. A bird had flown into one of the engines and the whole thing had just blown up. A wing had been blown off entirely and loads of people had been killed. Of coarse, there were rumours that it was another terrorist attack, but these were yet to be proved.
A teacher from Katy’s school was being interviewed. Mr. Peter’s son had been on the plane and was one of the dead.
Katy shrugged, going back to her breakfast. It didn’t concern her. If she could have done something to change it, then that would have been different. But there was nothing she could have done so it didn’t matter. It was yet another disaster in a messed up world as far as she was concerned.
*thanks for reading and please review. I would appreciate all reviews, good or bad!*
Your tone seemed to change a little when you shifted to the bird (such as using simpler descriptions, like "very pretty"), and I think it worked well.
