By Alix Perry

Surely, there had been a time before the bird started following her home from school, but Amelia couldn’t remember it. Like the wrinkles around her dad’s eyes, the bird was just a part of the world. 

The bird flitted from branch to branch, passing over seven-year-old Amelia, letting her walk under the watch of its beady eyes, then flew onward to overtake her again. It had a light gray body and a handsome crest of dark blue feathers upon its head, and though the coloring didn’t seem exotic to Amelia, the library’s local field guide showed no species matching this description.

Amelia had developed a theory about the bird. At soccer games, her friends’ parents took turns flying their drones overhead, the insectoid whine ringing in her ears well after the final whistle blew. She’d seen the footage, her team’s orange jerseys clumped together in one corner of the field, the zoom lens showing them kicking each other’s shins just as often as the ball. Though Amelia couldn’t tell if the bird was buzzing like a drone, she’d never heard it chirp or sing either. She’d stop and look up into its eyes, counting to herself as she tried to break her staring contest record. Though the bird always won, she found comfort in the thought that, as long as it was watching her, it wasn’t watching anyone else. 

Every afternoon, Amelia was relieved to step through her home’s side door, both to leave the bird behind and to see her dad. But one day, he wasn’t there. She made herself a snack of cheese slices and cheese-flavored crackers and sat on the couch to wait. At any moment, the deadbolt would turn with that familiar clack. She kept her eyes on the door, then on the place where the door had faded into darkness. Amelia woke up with the sun streaming through the window, the blinds left open. She was going to be late for school. She grabbed her backpack and jacket and ran outside, still dressed in her clothes from the day before.

When the bird appeared as usual later that day, Amelia was ready, her jacket pockets weighed down with stones from the playground. With more rage than she’d ever felt before, Amelia began hucking stones at the bird. It was perched on a branch about fifteen feet up, and she had to put her entire body’s weight behind each throw. The bird did not flee as the rocks came nearer and nearer. It just stared at her, same as ever. 

Finally, with only a few rocks left, Amelia managed to hit the bird. She only realized she’d succeeded when it landed with a surprisingly heavy thud on the sidewalk. Breathing hard, Amelia strode up to the bird and prodded it with her toe. It didn’t move. She lifted her foot and pressed down on the body, expecting to hear the crunch of metal underneath its feathered facade. Instead, she only felt the pulpy squirm of viscera. 

Amelia kneeled and dipped her finger into the bright red liquid seeping out from around the bird’s eye. It was cold. She brought it to her nose, smelled nothing, then touched it to her tongue. The blood that was not blood tasted like cough syrup and onions.