This was written for bran4ever, who gave the challenge to write a story or poem about sunglasses. Hope you like. :)

The sunglasses are bent and broken, lying four feet away from their owner. All that's viewable of the owner from my perch is a leg. It's sticking out of a dumpster at an odd angle. I think the rest of its owner might be in the bin next to it.

I'd seen the murder of course. I see everything. Anyone in the neighbourhood wants to know something, they come to me. Just now, Squi is climbing the tree I'm in to ask me about the mangled corpse. I'm like the portable version of the internet.

"Hey, Bir!" she says, a slight lisp travelling between her two large front teeth. I nod a hello as she settles on the branch beside me. "You know who thaf was?" She indicates the leg.

"Yep," I chirp happily. The fact that society might see me as less than balanced when I appear happy to be explaining a murder was lost on me a long time ago. I'm not happy. I'm merely misunderstood.

"He was called B. H. Renoylds, in town for a..." I snigger, shaking my head. "Dentist's convention."

I see Squi scowl at me. "Denfists are important!" I try not to laugh. I probably fail, as Squi starts getting up.

I wave her back down. "You're too young for the dentists. You're only a kid." While she looks at me like I was the inbred son of a crow, I continue. "It was kinda different from the one we had last week." I scratch my leg. "The murder, not the convention. No guy in a hoodie brandishing a gun."

Squi nods understandingly. "They're the mose boring." She leans forward, moving into a crouch. "Did you see?!"

I wonder wryly for a moment why Squi never gets called out on her unnatural wish to hear about death and that the death that is described to her is always interesting. With anyone else, I can usually get away with skipping over most of the details and just telling what I saw. With Squi, the gory details are what she lives for. And people call me unbalanced!

"Of course." I smile. "I see all. I was up there" I indicate the roof above us, "when it happened. I'd heard Was left some junk up there, wanted to check it out. Anyway," I turn my attention back to the alley, "BH comes out of the stage door, seemed surprised there were no fans about, but he didn't seem to wanna hang around. He got on his mobile and told 'Rita' that he was gonna be home early."

I see Squi shake her head disapprovingly. I have to agree with her on that one. After all, what kind of a name is 'Rita'?

"So he hung up and was obviously waiting for one of those long, flashy cars to pull up, when this guy comes a-running round the side of the building. Seemed real excited and BH even smiled." I nod. "Nice guy he was."

"Whaf did the guy look like?" Squi asks, her eyes wide.

"Meh." I shrug. I never give out details of the murderers. After all, if all the murderers in the city got caught, who'd entertain me?

"Anyways, the fan waved what I presumed was one of those funny sheet things that you get when you go inside the building."

Squi interrupts me, wanting to show her knowledge. "A programme?"

I smirk, speaking in a condescending tone. "Yes, Squi, a programme." I shake my head. Sometimes I wonder if Squi is just as bad as all those idiots who actually work for a living. "BH gets a pen to sign it and bada-bing-bada-boom!" Squi gasps, eyes blinking at me as I grin widely. "The fan whips out this long, rusty, old knife, like they use to cut meat down at the butchers. He's waving it around, shouting and swearing, while BH looks like he's gonna piss his pants." I chuckle. "And ya know what he wanted?"

Squi thinks for a moment. "An autograph?"

I sigh. Sometimes I honestly don't know how I manage to live on in this world, knowing that the majority of people around me are uneducated, dumb morons, and that I will always be the responsible one. Seriously, why don't I just go and kill myself now? It'll save some self righteous bastard having to do it because he's too stupid to know that I'm actually right about everything and all he's ever believed in is in fact a load of garbage.

I speak slowly, trying to hold onto my sanity. "No, Squi, not an autograph." I take a deep breath and recite. "'Give me your fucking shades, dude, or I'll mess that face o' yours up!'" I shrug. "Just another loony? Naaaah. 'Give me the shades and I'll let ya walk away, man!'" I look down at the sunglasses with sudden interest. "How much can they be worth anyways?"

"Birrr!" Squi whines. "Story!"

"Right." I put aside my future plans for fame and fortune, martyr that I am, and continue. "BH is like, just as much as weirded out as I am. But he takes off those shades and goes to hand 'em over, trying to be all cool like."

I grin at the memory of BH trying to keep calm, when I could tell all he wanted to do was bursts into tears and run back to mummy.

"The thug takes the glasses, and then..." I laugh. "He actually starts backing away, like he's gonna leave BH alive. Talk about them rich plonks and their priorities."

Squi looks shocked. "Seriously?" She shakes her head. "Thatf's just not righf. I mean," she puts her head on one side, "what about repufation?"

I smirk again. "Exactly! I'm so glad someone understands me."

"So whaf did you do?!"

"Well," I said, getting up and spreading my wings, flapping them slightly. "I flew right down there and knocked those shades outta that bastard's hand." I grinned as another pleasant memory flooded through me. "Then he had to stab him!"