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. ”