I've already been scored on it, so I'm not really looking for in-depth reviews. I just thought I'd share it with you all. Enjoy.
Blue Bird's Blood
By Joseph Dean
(c) 2009.01.09
Word Count: 472
Dyson Abrams came to a halt when he heard the soft thunk followed by the mechanical whining of windshield wipers. Not sure what to expect, he turned on his heel slowly. The sounds could have been anything as far as he was concerned. The last thing Dyson expected to see was the blue jay laying helpless on the concrete with one wing twitching and the other unmoving and somewhat disheveled.
If the helpless animal would have just died on impact, Dyson would have turned back around and kept on his way home. Unfortunately for him, the bird was still alive, and Dyson felt obligated to take it to safety. He had nothing better to do.
The young teenager carried the faintly breathing bird in his arms past the many pairs of confused expressions that met him. What sane person would be carrying around something practically dead and presumingly riddled with disease?
"Dyson!" his mother yelled once he arrived home. "Don't you dare bring that filthy thing into the house!"
Dyson sighed and went back out into the warm air. He set the bird onto the grass and fell cross-legged next to it. Dyson reached out his palm and slowly petted its feathers, only to see the wet blood smeared across his hands.
Disgusted, he wiped his hand across his pants leg. the bird began violently flapping about the ground - although the only one good wing caused it to simply flap about in a rather violent circle.
Dyson scrambled back, afraid he was about to be attacked. His eyes widened, and he took in a solid, deep breath. The bird quit moving. Dyson checked its eyes; they were empty.
He shuffled around in his position. Were his clothes getting bigger? He knew he had lost a few pounds, but that was definitely not enough to cause all of his clothes to fall around him.
Dyson felt extremely lighter. It was liberating having the wind ruffle his feathers.
Feathers?
His small head looked around, his equally tiny mind unable to grasp the current situation.
A large woman came out of the huge structure behind him.
"Dyson!" she called out. Her eyes fell on her son and his pile of clothes.
Dyson reached out toward the familiar woman, his short arms failing to make contact.
"No!" she screamed. "Shoo!" She made hand gestures toward Dyson.
He jumped, startled, and the wind threw him across the street. Dyson pursued the intentions in the back of his mind. He moved his limbs as instinctively instructed and moved even swifter through the wind.
Dyson's lack of motor control steered him onto the road.
Brenton Collins came to a halt when he heard the soft thunk. Taking pity on the poor bird, he picked Dyson up in his arms, getting the blue bird's blood all over his hands.
~Fin.
That is horrifically sad but strangely sad at the same time. Good effort. But there's no emotion, like, how does Dyson feel when he's suddenly shrinking? Wouldn't he scream or yelp or cry or gasp or something? Try and run? And his death is a little, um, sudden? You could've dragged it out like you did with the first bird. And wouldn't he know if he was changing into a bird?
you're AHHHmazing. BUT you did sign off of aim RIGHT as I logged on. MEANIE! : p
