Micro-fiction: Do Not Feed The Birds
A tiny comedy horror in 325 words.
Hiya, and welcome back for another chirpy little horror story!
I post tiny horror stories each week, mostly with a supernatural theme, with tones varying between comedy and truly dark. There are often inclusive themes below the surface (LGBTQ+, neurodiversity, intersectional feminism, and more) so if you’ve glitter all over your shadowy gothic heart, you’re in the right place.
Without furthering fluttering, let’s fly over to this week’s story…
Do Not Feed The Birds
It was a beautiful day, but the cathedral square was empty. Enormous stones paved the path around the lawn, no weeds sprouted anywhere, and there wasn’t even a discarded cigarette butt nestling in the cracks. The surrounding ancient buildings muffled the buzz of city traffic, and I felt calm, walled away and protected by the staring gargoyles. The neatly trimmed grass called to me, lush and soft, and the dappled shade from a yew tree offered respite from the midday sun.
I sat cross-legged beside a sign saying ‘DO NOT FEED THE BIRDS’, and unwrapped my sandwich.
Some people are rebels. I’m not one of them. I follow orders; that’s my nature.
Pigeons observed from a cautious distance, pecking at the lawn as if to say ‘we’re so hungry’. Jackdaws eyed my food from the rooftops. A pair of collared doves strutted a cautious circle around me. I didn’t drop a crumb for them.
I finished eating, collected the wrapper, and tucked it back into my bag.
Checking my phone, I still had fifteen minutes on my break, so I laid back and watched the scattered clouds drift overhead. A plane passed far above, too distant to hear, and insects buzzed among the yew’s needles. My eyelids shut.
Beside me, there was a faint flutter, followed by a light rustling of grass.
Opening my eyes, a blue tit stood beside me, its beak inches from my face, close enough to catch a whiff of the musky oil on its bright feathers.
It hopped to my ear and whispered, “Bring us blood.”
Like I said, I’m not a rebel. I follow orders, but now I had two instructions.
I looked at the sign. The blue tit cocked its head, its squint somehow imbued with menace. My heart thrummed in my chest. I checked the sign again, and breathed a sigh of relief.
The sign said I mustn’t feed the birds; there was nothing to stop me getting them a drink.
The end
If this little comedy horror put an impish smile on your face, you might also like last week’s sustainability newsletter from Hell.
Or, if you like your spookies to be darker, try this 400 word spine-tingler.
As always, I’d love my writing to find new readers, and you can help! Click the ‘like’ heart at the end of this post or sharing it helps others find my writing. If you feel extra generous, you can also upgrade to a paying subscription.
This week I made a bit of a tough choice: I got a complementary email from a literary agent that was unfortunately rejecting the novel I’ve been seeking representation for. After around 90 queries, I think it’s time to put that one in a drawer for the moment. I’ve a new novel in the editing stages which, in my opinion, has a very cool one-liner pitch. I hope that one might help me get representation and maybe open doors for the old one. I’m still very passionate about the older novel, but sometimes it just doesn’t fit the market’s needs. Onwards with the next one!
I hope you’ve had a good week and the world is smiling on you.
Go be kind and spooky,
Mata
xxx
So good!
Love it!