The Time, The Bird

Boot on concrete and step by step, Time had finally arrived in a simple black coat and knocked on the solid wood door.

“I am up.”

Nothing more and nothing less. This telling phrase from the lips of a face donned in a blanket of darkness ripped away all. With a whoosh of the tail, Time proceeded swiftly to turn on heel down the steps. The light that glowed the broken street flickered until it died out. Continuing down the alley way, Time whistled the tune of dawn.

That solid wood door had opened, and the young man charged from sleep had heard the calling and whistling. Struggling to coat himself and slip his shoes on, he quickly walked to follow the noise. Minutes passed.

“Where are you?” he spoke to himself, not expecting a response.

The whistle turned into a chirp, and Time morphed into a bird, he thought. It must have. Running home, the young man grabbed his gun and once again searched for the bird. As he spotted a blur, he raised the gun to his chest and aimed. Bang. Silence. Lethargic and stumbling home, he removed his shoes and coat. Lying in bed, he closed his eyes to the sound of chirping.