Birds

     I woke up this morning, greeting the children with a casual hello. No time to talk, I must provide food, water, shelter. A mother to these little ones, a father too. Leaving the home, it feels good to cruise the woodland area in search of food to bring home. I'm the provider. They depend on me. Over a hill, I see over yonder.. food. The Target, the Mark, the Prey.. The Kill. It's mine. Mine to kill, to grind down into reasonable proportions so the children may feed like zombies on a helpless tourist. Their mind as savage as the cannibal, as mine is disciplined as the warrior. Closer, it grows. I see it clearly now. So close. It's mine. The ecstasy of anticipation, the energy! It feels almost fantastical, this orgasm of the life-sustaining member and the ventriloquist in which it is operated by. Oh how wonderful it will be when the children induce this euphoric state of being, this almost sexual intensity!
     The intensity rising so high it's as if, at its peak, the thunder of the muzzle sounds the cry of battle, the sword swung from the warrior's arm of a barrel to strike upon the warm flesh of purity, puncturing its innocence and thus, ending the mother's life, unable to provide for her chicks so that another mother may provide for theirs. The kill, the prey, the future of children, so far. Less than what it seemed. I don't weep for my children, for they will have experienced what I have experienced, God's fist breaking my wing and entering the chest. The upward flight of life, the spiraling glide of death and the  wizened rejuvenation of rebirth.

Author's Note

I've only had about 2 hours to write this.