File under: Birds, Dead.
This is quickly becoming a popular theme for me, but today's was so much more visceral than the others that I couldn't possibly skip it. I had just cooked some chicken and was eating it for dinner. It tasted so good, and I was drinking some wine too. Suddenly I saw a swiftly-moving shadow off to my right, diving down in my direction. I wheeled around, and saw a gray pigeon darting at me, until he was struck brutally by the window that made my kitchen. I rushed to the glass to witness his last few breaths. His mouth and neck moved in unison, in and out, like he was squawking the lyrics to some loud and terrible song, or choking violently on a piece of steak. But he didn't make a sound. The neck motion continued, five or six times, then became weaker, slower, less pronounced, and then his big terrified eyes started to close, stammering and stuttering as they did. Then his red claws, clenched like the fingers of a pregnant woman awaiting a swine flu shot, began to relax, and fell down to the sides of his body. His ankles were bound in the bracelets of some ornithologist whose study would now be one bird short. Then he just lay there so still, looking like an angel. I re-focused my eyes to notice two of his feathers stuck to the window, marking the murder weapon. This evidence would surely help out the forensics squad, though there's never much doubt in situations like this. After that, there was nothing left to do but go back to my table, have another swig of wine, and finish up my delicious chicken.