A Walk Home

I wrote this for a school thing a few months ago, so it's not incredible. I've decided to share it because I wanted to see if I could ruin someone's day.

I once heard someone say that you can learn a lot of things by being a forty year-old woman. I guess I'll never know these things because I'm neither forty nor a woman. I'm a guy at fifteen who's pondering what secret knowledge middle-aged women possess when my school bus comes to a stop, and I step off onto the short foresty path that leads to my home.

Today's pretty unremarkable. No clouds. The air is warm and thin. But I still like it. I get to think on these walks of mine. Observe things, you know?

Like how leaves rustle differently on certain trees, or how roughly two birds are having sex. YIKES. It doesn't look like either is enjoying it. It's just... just a flurry of feathers and thrusting.

I pray to whichever god's listening that my first time doesn't look like that.

I continue home, but my thoughts keep drifting back to the bird sex. Do birds have romance? If so, what's it look like? What would a bird porno be like? I unconciously write a script for a bird porn in my head:
(BIRD enters.)
BIRD: Sorry if I came early. I don't usually do that. (BIRD winks at the camera.)
OTHER BIRD: You know what they say; early bird gets the worm.
(Saxophone.)

I shiver.

When I get home I can smell dinner. Mom's making... chicken?

Author's Note

This is not serious at all.