The Birds...2

“The birds are all dying Michael.” Celeste’s words floated on the air as cold and graceful as her dying birds. Michael cast a wary glance in the direction of the woman beside him, his eyes flicking from her inky black curls to the line of her back and stopping with the sensuous sway of her hips. In one quick glance, he took in the soft curve of her neckline, the determined set of her jaw, and the firm press of her lips. He paused in his stride and observed her cautiously, the way one views any dangerous exotic animal- fear and awe warring within him.




“They should have left months ago,” she continued, “when the cold weather set in. Now they are paying the price for it.”



Michael’s stomach knotted nervously. Celeste frightened him; he was terrified of her striking beauty, her unyielding will, and the heart numbing weakness she caused in him. Speaking around the cold hard fear slumbering in his throat he said, “Maybe that one month was worth it, Celeste.”

She rounded on him. Her dark eyes flashed with anger and something deeper, something almost hidden, something close to pain and fear. “Really Michael? A month? And it was worth what exactly? This slow death? The constant frozen grip of pain that drills to the very core, leaving nothing that hasn’t been scorched and tortured by its grasp.”



A sob escapes in a deep shudder from her chest. Her eyes well with tears, they plead for understanding. “I just can’t do it anymore.” And then she hides from him, retreats to the dark, lonely place she inhabited in the time before him- the time before love. She bows her head, ebony curls closing around her face like gates of steel. She rubs her arms self consciously, she sinks deeper into the depths of her coat.



Michael watches each tiny gesture, each vain attempt at escape and smiles softly to himself.



"You are right..."