Songbirds
…Let’s scream into the void. Spec-Fic Short Story.
Warning: dark vibes and existential questions
Feathers.
There were feathers.
Falling from the skies in rampant droves for hours on end, then cutting off their flurry-drift — abrupt as waking mid-dream. Blizzards of the stuff covering whole towns in the debris of ghostly pillow fights; the wars of broken mattresses.
And humans did what humans do — They memed, made videos, added sound affects. They scoffed, they laughed, they mocked. They revelled, they enjoyed, they worshiped. Some despaired, some wept, some prayed.
But there were feathers.
Long and short. Broad and narrow. Brown and white and black and gray and blue. Beautiful. Everywhere.
Those early incidents were big news — flocking journalists and reporters and YouTubers and TikTokers from all over clamoring for vox-pops and perfect shots. Salivating scoops. The world’s media wanted answers. The public did too.
Explanations were sought and fought and lost and found. People argued, and denied, and fell down rabbit holes. Scientists and governments and environmentalists and ornithologists rushed through analyses and found simply: feathers.
