Was it me or the pigeon I ask my self the following week. I keep replaying the moment in my mind. A pigeon, which is a bird, which is a animal, and animals don’t talk, right? Then it must have been me. What freaks me out is that I was high and a pigeon asked me for a light, that’s just straight out of a movie, a bad movie. Maybe it wasn’t me, maybe it was the pigeon, maybe the government made a secret spying device to spy on average people like myself, it could be for the future, if I decide to kill someone. Now I think I might be high at this moment, talking about how in the future I am going to kill someone and the government thinks so as well. Maybe I’m going crazy, should I go see someone? I am probably going to kill someone in the future because I am going crazy...I mean the government does weird test like this all the time.

 I was sitting there like usual, magazine in one hand and tea in the other. The train seemed to be on the normal schedule. Everything was going smoothly in my daily routine. The sun was shinning on the valley’s greenery as it whizzed past my window. 
 I was enjoying my perfectly average quiet morning when, at one of the train’s stops, a pigeon flew through a window and sat on the railing beside me. I examined it carefully. It looked healthy and well so I decided to leave it be. After continuing to read my magazine I noticed the bird was leaning it’s head towards me in a weird wobbly motion. 
 Jokingly, I asked the bird “What are you doing?” “Reading” it responded, in a slightly masculine, soft voice . I jumped. “Did you just speak?” I whispered back to it, hoping no one would hear me and think I’m crazy. “Yes. I very much so did just speak, Jasmine.” I looked around nervously, expecting to see a ventriloquist or puppet master. There were only a few other people on the train, all minding their own business. “How do you know my name?” I asked the bird suspiciously. “I know you.” it responded “We were friends before.” 
 How I could have been friends with a talking pigeon before and not remember it, I don’t know, but I do know if there is a talking pigeon sitting next to me on a train reading my magazine I best not ignore it. “Who are you?” I asked. The bird looked up at me as if it knew something I didn’t. It’s expression was content and peaceful, well as much so as a bird’s face could be, and it said “My name is Zara. ” 

Hehaahhwheheheh

I jumped, a bit startled. I didn’t know if it was my imagination or if I was going crazy or if I’d even taken my meds that morning. I didn’t say anything and quickly looked around, noticing people having changed. I now wondered if itwould be a good idea to go throw myself in the river or find a pace where people couldn’t see me freaking out.