turkey.

The playwright stared ahead, squinted and stood off her chair. She approached the baby-blue wall, put her hand flat against the plaster, it was cooler than the air in the room and made her think of flipping her pillow over at night to contend with the transference of her warm cheek to cotton, welcoming the cooler side of her pillow, to refresh her tepid skin. She had a pen in other hand and used it to trace the outline of her spread fingers onto the wall. After finishing,  she backpedaled and set her fingers to form a square from which she peered through, framing the traced fingers. She shook her head no and announced, “that’s not it.” For years she’d been striving to be inspired, but her efforts awarded her empty gestures. She was influenced by the desire to follow-up her debut hit with an even greater work of art. “Screw it.” She said and walked to her living room. She slumped into her recliner, removed her cell phone from her back pocket, began scrolling through the various newsfeeds of her social media accounts. She happened across a picture of a hawk that someone she’d never met, or spoken with took. The bird’s face resembled a human scowl and what appeared as yellow irises gleamed like flashbulbs capturing the moment. She peered up from the phone’s screen, a songbird was perched atop the window frame, crooning to no one in particular, when off in the distance a black speck loomed and grew larger in size as it approached the bird, taking the form of a hawk, like the one in the picture. It captured the song bird in its talons and slammed it against the window glass, echoing thuds in the playwright’s apartment with each blow. Startled, she leapt from her recliner and sprinted to the window. While holding the song bird to the ground, the hawk ripped its beak off with its own and spit the pecker to the side. It then looked at the playwright and sent shivers down her spine, before focusing back on its prey and flying off in the distance with the bird corpse still spasming in its claws. She pivoted on her heel and ambled back to where she had traced her hand and added to her fingers a beak and some feathers, resembling a turkey in appearance. “There,” she exclaimed, smiling. “Now that’s it!”

Published by akcola

AK Cola is a pop-culture war veteran.

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