Digital Ischemia

25/12/2017

The Santa Hat

As the sky reluctantly lightens to murky blue, a two centimetre tall shiny red cone bobs along outside the window. Could it be elves or some other mythical creatures associated with the season? The jaunty angle fascinates me. I hear tapping and scratching, and the faint thumps of small feet.

I lean in to the shadowy wall, craning to see past the frame. A bluetit lands, unfazed by the festive mystery. He ignores the seeds I sprinkled in favour of jabbing the frame edges for insects trapped in spider web. The red cone wobbles and pulls my focus. Other than the seeds, I see no trail of magic or any clues. Can I get closer without being seen?

The bluetit twitches his head one final time, satisfied he has exhausted all visible sources of ready caught insect. I brace to move, hoping to use his departure as cover. I have to take a chance, as the red cone could also vanish at any moment. Wings flutter and I lean right in to the glass.

The red Santa hat tops a less than festive sparrow. She has a shiny plastic lid stuck to her head. It looks like the cap off a bottle; unmarked so I can only guess if it was packaging for some food product or cosmetic. Sticky either way. It’s poorly designed, even for its intended purpose: difficult to grip to twist it. Impossible for a clawed creature. Harsh penance for seeking food.

The sparrow dips clumsily to peck a seed. She flaps and falls into the adjoining shrub. Apparently she can hop up to the window and back to the bush but not fly. She’s too unbalanced, weighed down. Perhaps a sparrowhawk can get the lid off.

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27/09/2013

Apple

Filed under: Shorts — Tags: , , , , , , , — Teepwriter @ 15:36

When did I swallow the poison apple?

It’s in my middle, where food should be, blocking me.

I know why my eyes are dry and stung. I heard the pat, pat on my bed.

I like to watch the others through the window: a little girl so joyful in her young body that she drops into lunge poses, over and over, for sheer pleasure of sensation.
A little girl lost, bewildered in a moment. Her bubble of rapture with watching us popped, she turned for the security of parent but it had gone. A whirl of panic. I see both, but their sight line is broken.
The older boy denying his interest for a game of supremacy.
The adults staring but not seeing.
I see this play out over and over. It’s exhausting but it’s escape.

I don’t like to look across to the other windows beyond: others like me stare back.

My parent touches me; it’s time to move: the watchers are bringing food.

When did I swallow the poison apple?

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