Waking up at 5 am is hard. It's even more difficult when the blaring alarm is just millimeters away from straining fingertips and the feeling of a warm body pressed against hers begs her not to pull away. She groans audibly and heaves a sigh, throwing the blankets aside as she pushes herself up from the warm nest of bedding. She snatches her phone up, silencing the wail as she pushes stray hairs from her face and stands up shakily. Standing first thing in the morning has also become a difficult task as the years went on and she stretches slowly, breathing deeply as a shiver races over her skin. Shower time.
Breakfast is quiet and consists of mostly coffee. Nibbling on toast while still trying to wake up she glances out the window over her sink and pauses. The window looks out over her miniscule yard, a concrete slab, and into the tiny yard adjacent. There, in the soft light of the early morning, a hunched figure stands out black against the soft pink of the wall gently lit up behind it. Soft bird song begins to fill the air as the sun breaks the horizon turning soft pinks to brighter orange and causing rays of light to spill across the small adjoining back yard. There, in the tiny space, was hundreds of birds. From sparrows to finches there is a crowding of little birds around this hunched figure and she gently sets her coffee cup down as she leans closer to the window.
Realization floods her when a sun beam illuminates the figure and she releases the breath she wasn't aware she had been holding. It was the old lady that lives behind her. She doesn't interact with many people on the block and certainly not with the elderly woman but she has seen her outside before. She has just never seen her out so early or with so many birds around.
She leans closer to the small window as she watches the old, bent woman with her stringy silver hair cascading over her shoulders and the morning light glistening over pale, waxy skin. Her frail hand trembles as she drops a small handful of what appears to be birdseed on the concrete before her and her large, dark eyes seem to gleam predatorily as she watches the birds frenzy at her feet.
She feels exposed standing there, hands gripping the edge of the counter as she watches the old woman, a feeling of dread and anxiety creeping up her spine. Fear begins to prick her skin as she watches the woman begin to smile and her eyes widening as the woman's mouth begin to stretch wider. The corners of her thin lips are at the edge of her face, stretching her mouth impossibly wide as tiny sharp teeth glisten in the early morning light and she inhales sharply, knuckles gripping so hard to the counters edge they are white.
She can't look away. Can't turn her face away from the horrors that are unfolding before her, can't make her body turn around or her feet step back and away. She swallows hard as the hunched woman opens her palm, overflowing with more birdseed, and offers it to the flock of small songbirds. A brave or perhaps stupid finch flutters into her palm, happily picking the seeds from her withered hand before being swiftly, violently crushed and shoved head first into the old womans gaping, grotesque mouth.
She slams a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle the scream that is clawing its way up and out. She can feel her stomach churning as she watches blood ooze from the corners of the woman's mouth as she joyfully rips the head off the dead bird and chomps happily. Blood and guts dribble down the woman's chin, spilling down the front of her pale night gown like pale, bloody noodles. For a moment the birds around her erupt and flutter as the woman devours one of their own but soon they settle back as if nothing has happened. She is gasping for air as she watches the consumption and is trying not to pass out as her brain is comprehending what she has just witnessed. It was all too much and she finally regains control of her legs. She forces her legs back and finally turns her face from the gore. She steps back another step, putting her hands on her knees and retching onto the rug.
This can't be real, she is borderline frantic with the thought that she has just witnessed her elderly neighbor kill and consume a songbird. Feathers and all. No, she is just really tired and thought she had seen the old woman literally bite the head off a finch that was eating out of her hand. She swipes the back of her hand across her mouth, coffee bile soaking into the rug as she pushes whips of escaped hair back and stands back up. She stares at the kitchen wall for a moment, replaying the woman's grin that continued to grow and the sharp little teeth that lined her mouth gleaming in the early morning sun. She dwelled on look in the woman's eyes as she stared hungrily at the little bird that had thought it had scored big with its own personal handful of food. The shivers ripple down her spine again as she exhales and looks back out the window.
There she is, right in front of the glass, a thin hand pressed to the window and her face so close her forehead rests against the glass pane. Her pale skin was drawn tight across her face as she smiles wide and her cracked lips stretch from ear to ear. Bits of blood and feathers are stuck to her teeth as she drags her tongue over the window leaving behind a slimy, bloody trail.
"Don't worry child," the women's thin voice floats through the glass, her breath leaving steam on the small window, " I only eat the birds now."
