Member-only story
Sat at the foot of the Eagleman’s desk
Yet to be acknowledged
His weathered beak clawing through notes
Feathers on his back scratching the air
The full flight of his wingspan
Casting a shadow that’s broken
by the light from a door
When a hollowed presence leaned in
He was a stranger, as a ghost would be
Desperate, as a ghost would be
“Let it end” he pleaded
His face imprinted with the effort of those words
The Eagleman’s beak stayed lowered
No recognition, nothing close nor familiar
Just a meaningless flick of his feathered wrist
And the worker whispered into dust
We choked on the absence of air
Until we felt dust in our throat
The Eagleman noticed his desk had two extra legs
Yet still, no recognition
Nothing close nor familiar
His eyes had been shaved down
So you could see beyond
into the dark of his skull
His teeth filed down to the gums
And lips stretched so thin that his mouth
Flew into a v-like point
Finally…
