I think I killed him but I don’t know. It was five in the morning. He’d been sitting right outside my window every night for months, singing. Like one of those car alarms that switches up every 5 seconds. Different songs. Not nightingale songs, either, but rather our abrasive local birds. Jays and tits. Grackles. I would turn on all the fans in my house to drown him out but that treble cuts right though. I put earplugs in but you roll around on your pillow and they either jam painfully into your eardrum or, if they’re the silicone kind, they roll out and get stuck in your hair.
I had almost made my peace with him, but then yesterday I got chewed out hard at work and had to wake up early to work on this big pain-in-the-ass project, and I was just stressed out, spending the whole night just barely on the verge of sleep. And every time I was just about to get there, here comes the fucking mockingbird. I have this BB gun, a big rifle with a scope on it leaning against the wall in the closet and the fucking thing was just crying out to me. Use me. Use me to kill this bird. This is what I am for. Continue reading →
Tags: mockingbirds