Writing Prompt

Birds circled overhead-

"What? But you don't know birds."

I can try to.

"You're not gonna be immediately good at it."

Maybe that's okay.

"Fine. What kind of birds are they?"

They're ostriches-

"Ostriches don't fly, numbskull."

Okay, then... they're crows.

"How foreboding. And what do they mean?"

Um... I don't know. That's for the reader to decide.

"Well you have to give them at least _s...

Birds circled overhead. My eyes tracked them, even in the distance. Their huge black wings beat against the warm current. If they found me, I'd be their gift. I wondered faintly if they would see me or smell me first. From what I knew about the birds, I guessed the latter. But I didn't know much. As I watched them, the sun moved gradually above the horizon, and the heat encase...

Birds circled overhead as if I were carrion for them to feast upon. _Vultures_, I thought, _how appropriate._ Bright light burned my dry eyes as I worked to make sense of what had happened since I left her in that Portland office. Had it been a day or more? I lay on desiccated land, small, angular pebbles biting into my face, arms, and all other parts exposed to the elements. Where is the nearest ...

Birds circled overhead…

Because they were ready to feast…

On what has long been dead.

The old me…

I’ve shed her skin,

Standing over the carcass as we speak…

She was weak.

Too kind, too fogiving.

Me?

Not anymore.

I can’t be…

Look at all the scars in her back,

From all the knives that stabbed her.

All those wounds…

From the people who ‘loved’ her.

Hardened my heart,

Won’t let anyone like that in...

Birds circled overhead

They circled with a false sense of freedom

Obtaining the power to go where they chose, yet mindlessly flying in circles

Over and over and over again, almost in a programmed or practiced motion

Perhaps they enjoy the sense of community

With their senseless flight of motion

Maybe they even feel fulfilled with this repetive routine

Don't they know there's a whole sky?

As I w...

Birds circled overhead.

Are those crows?

I should probably get out of here. Scrambling to stuff all of my belongings into my bag, I dropped my sketchbook. It landed open, on a page where I drew a picture of my favorite flowers, Irises. Mistakenly as a child I thought they were just eyeballs on a stem, like a silly Halloween decoration. Ever since they have been my favorite. Inky but often pur...

Birds breezing in the air above,

Swooping down to peck my skull-

Or bees buzzing through my brain,

Flitting in my head to sting my thoughts-

Or crickets chirping in my ears,

Screaming warnings on everything I say or write.

Anxiety.

_ Anxiety._

** A n x i e t y.**

**_ A

N

X

I

...

Birds circled overhead,

much like they do when something‘s dead.

The only thing down in the creek,

are voices that, to me, they speak.

They speak to me when I’m in bed.

They speak to me inside my head.

They speak of things that I must dread.

They’ll haunt me nightly ‘til I’m dead.

And though I’d never pull the thread,

they taunt and tease to go ahead.

They lie and say that it won’t hurt.

They sa...

Birds circle overhead. I sit sullenly in the fluffy grass with my knees pulled up to my chest. I lift my chin from my kneecap to crane my neck up toward the sky, only to be flashed by the white sun. I squint and shade myself with my hand. Then I see them. Cardinals. Their bright red feathers captivating me as my stare lingers. They chase each other, tweeting playfully and joyfully. Hopefully. I l...

Birds circle overhead as Cogan and I trek through the thick overgrowth of dry, hay-like grass coating the plains. I squint and place my hand to my forehead in attempt to shade my eyes and look up at the murder of crows that seem to have taken some amusement in observing our struggle. The sun is sweltering, blazing down on us through disgustingly dry heat, and there is no relief from the elements -...