Two Strikes, You're Out

I'm at the cabin, and yesterday afternoon, as I was doing some audio editing (a Ray Bradbury story that's possibly his most famous, but one I don't like at all . . . so why would I present it on my show?), there was a loud BANG to the right of me.  I knew what it was immediately (it had happened before): a bird had flown into the window.  There have been a number of times when I've gone to the upper deck and found a dead bird up there, and no doubt, that was the reason why.  But this time, it startled the crap out of me, but I got up and went out there, and found a large brown and orange bird (I thought it was a woodpecker for the moment I saw it) awkwardly walking on the deck.  The second it saw me, it flew away, but it had left a telltale grey mark on the glass* and a couple of white feathers on the sill.  I felt bad for it (I feel bad for a lot of injured or dead animals, leading me to free the squirrels I caught in the traps around the building, and even going so far as to pity the yellowjackets I swat when they get inside and buzz around the east window), but was glad it was alright.

I kept thinking about how hard it hit the glass (imagining Alfred Hitchcock-esque scenarios), and ended up writing a story about it once the sun went down (one I'll surely never share with anyone, but pretty much wrote in one day), and that was it.  I wasn't going to mention it to anyone, and certainly wouldn't have blogged about it.

Now it's the next day, and I was reading instead of writing or editing (sorry), when, to my right, on a different window, came another meaty THUMP.  It startled me, though not as badly, and I got up to see if it had been the same bird.  

It was, but this time, he wasn't getting up.  It was fluttering its wings, its little claws opening and closing, its mouth agape, and a long thin tongue lolling out like you see in the movies.  Before my eyes, its movements ceased, and its eyes actually closed as it died.  There was another grey mark on the glass where it hit, but I swear, this one hadn't struck nearly as hard.  My guess is, the poor thing's neck was broken, but the time between flying into the window and being dead was less than a minute.  Unfortunate, beautiful animal, and now it was gone for no reason.  

The story I wrote last night was meant to be scary, since that's how I'd reacted, but if I wrote one now, it would just be sad.

*I tried to get a picture of it just now, but you just can't see it amid the mid-day reflection.