A Short Story Based On #Birdtober2022
I Love Birds
Twitter tends to get a bad rep, and between all the spam bots and regurgitated political talking points, it’s not hard to see why. But despite all this — once you’ve waded through the trash, you’re in for some real treats.
Some of the things I love about the platform are the various nature-themed art challenges. There seem to be a few going simultaneously every month, but here I want to focus on those centered around drawing birds. This year we already had “AvianAugust” and right now, we’re in the middle of #Birdtober2022.
I bring all of this up not just because I love discovering creative online endeavors to share with others, but also because it gives me a chance to explore a bit of multimedia genre-crossing mash-up magic. (Or whatever you want to call it). As much as I love looking at what people come up with, I’m not an artist. It’s debatable whether I’m a writer either, but at least I play one on the Internet.
That’s why I decided to turn the #Birdtober2022 art prompts into writing prompts.
Zero percent of the credit for this belongs to me. I was inspired by Jillian Spiridon who decided to adapt the #Witchtober art challenge for her own stories. I think both the idea and her executions are brilliant. You can check out two examples here:
The #Birdtober2022 prompt for October 10 is “Baby Bird”. If anybody would like to join the fun — I would love to read your stories, so please tag me in whatever you decide to publish.
I hope you enjoy!
I went to an abandoned mall today.
I don’t know if it’s the atmosphere, the false nostalgia or just the fact that I get to be alone in such an inherently public space. But something about it just speaks to me.
The place had everything you see in the YouTube videos. The sad yet lovable office plants. The store fronts advertising the hottest fashion from when I was still in my 20s. The fluorescent lights on the brink of shining for the final time, never to be replaced again.
The whole vibe was just L I M I N A L through and through— and yes, it absolutely has to be spelled that way.
In that hotbed of decay, I heard a sound that didn’t belong. Something too beautiful to be here. Something that decided to resist. “Screw your cynicism”, that sound seemed to say. “I’m just here to have a good time.”
It was the sound of a baby bird singing.
That baby bird didn’t have to wade through trash to find gems. It was just having a blast here and now.
And as dusk started to set in, I sat down on the floor and listened to the music of this child of the night.
Thank you for reading! If you would like to check out 31 very short scary stories I recently wrote, please click here:
