Title Page

 

Selected Short Works: 2016-2018

Eugene Samolin

© 2018   

 All stories contained herein are works of fiction. 

 eugenesamolin@gmail.com

 

Contents

 

 

The Sparrow Flies

 

The Twelve Moments

 

Maladministration

 

Genus the Man

 

 

The Sparrow Flies

 

The Sparrow Flies

 

I finally entered the front gate, home’s shady relief beckoning from summer’s furnace. An infant sparrow stood in the middle of the path. It glanced up and greeted me with a wink. I stooped and reached out as if to pick it up, but it either couldn’t move or saw my ruse and called the bluff, feet remaining firmly planted on the ground. It cocked its head.

Something about this avine’s ambivalence was amiss. I imagined the experience of mental terror preceding gruesome horror awaiting it when one of the cats came out. It looked up at me, unruffled, unstressed, and without pain, apparently lacking an appropriate fear of death. I frowned.

I knocked on the door. Pete answered. I bade him to come and share in my pity.

‘What’s the humane thing to do?’ I asked. It’s a living soul, a life, equal to yours and mine. ‘Call the RSPCA?’

Pete frowned. ‘It’s only a little bird...’

‘I suppose so.’ We sighed, shrugged, and trudged inside, where I kicked off my clogs and refreshed with rasberry lemonade while watching the news. Pete went out during the weather forecast. Maybe he’s taken the sparrow to the vet.

I went out later and the sparrow was still there, minus its head. Its maggot-infested carcass still greets me everytime I step through the gate. How much longer will I heed its headless ‘hello?’

I wonder: did it ever feel afraid?

—

Three months later and I’m rubbing sleep from my eyes and drinking juice from the carton in dawn’s cool light when a kerfuffle emits from the laundry not once, nor twice, but thrice. I walk in and passively watch as the sparrow sees me, flies into a panic, and frantically and repeatedly bangs its head against the sky-window. I step back into the hallway. The sparrow settles.

Thirst quenched, I yawn, scratch, and hear the sweet song of sleep’s embrace serenading me back to bed. Thump, thump, goes the sparrow’s head against the glass. I grumble and look for

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 26.09.2018
ISBN: 978-3-7438-8199-0

Alle Rechte vorbehalten