Fiction | Short Story

Eyes in the Wings

The neighbors wanted the bird out. “Do something,” they said. It was all in the eyes, wide and accusatory and wild.

Why don’t you talk to us? Trust us?

The bird

“It’s a story, you know. Their feathers are the lookout.”

Carlos had been diligent with collecting and throwing out the feathers strewn on the lawn every morning before leaving for work, but now they were in his home. They really did look like eyes, great ancient ones, their gaze following Carlos where he dwelled, and the peculiarity that comes with being watched in the space he created, the space that was Angel’s and his, too.