A girl, standing on the edge of a rocky beach. Watching a seagull spin higher and higher in the cool morning breeze. Free of the crushing weight of remorse and grief, of gravity. Spiralling up, singing in the strange, hoarse language that had always sounded harsh. It is now the most beautiful harmony on earth. And then, a sharp report, the sound of a gun. And the bird is no longer flying high, but tumbling downwards, caught in the eddies of the wind. Bright crimson staining dark grey. Looking for all the world like a limp puppet. Blood flowing from the white breast. As it passes a cliff, a new bird rises, a dark-grey nestling. Flying upwards with clumsy strokes, voice sad. The wingstrokes are more powerful now, flapping fast. The beak, open, songs of grief spilling out. The girl is saddened by the needless death, and heartened by the reincarnation of a spirit. She flies with the bird, sings in its voice. She turns, walks to the man aiming his gun at the nestling. And reaches out, pulls the long metal instrument of death out of his hand. He stares at her, curses forming on his lips. But he sees her sky-blue eyes and the bird the sings within her. And he understands. He unloads the gun. And he goes home.

Behind him, a bird plunges skyward.

A new life has begun. ****************************************************************** So, what did you think? Press the button please!

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