New Wave Requiem

Birds of a feather

Katherine Wick

I’m remembering things I never thought were there for me to recall. I see feathers and beaks protruding from the cavity of my stomach. The priestess standing above watching makes me feel comfort in some degree. All I can hear is the soft scraping sounds of wing against wing, and that rubbery sound of flesh tearing. It’s all a haze of pain and fear at this point.

I remember being lost some four years ago, wandering around aimlessly in some shit hole swamp. The old woman is there, she lets me drink from her and I am satisfied. the blood is hot like fire. She says she is Bruja like me, but I don’t feel the beast within her.

The frenzy at my gut is getting more chaotic. I watch as two of the birds fly out of the hallow and fly onto the shoulders of the Priestess. They both pierce her head with their beaks and whisper something. She smiles.

I remember the two women in the woods. One with snakes for hair, the other covered in scorpions. When I saw them last they were asking about their sister, lost and confused. Now they are watching me from the rooftop giggling to each other like children.

Finally, as the pain reaches its crescendo. I see something crawl out from between the birds. One of them must have hit the spine because I scream before I even feel anything scuttle up my chest. She’s short and squat and partially covered in feathers. Her bare breasts hanging low laden with ruby nectar. Her eyes are lidless, her mouth agape. She cocks her head and something sharp jabs me in the chest. She drinks. Only a drop or two. It doesn’t hurt but I can’t feel anything beyond the weight on my chest.

Finally, it stops. The birds gone after their fill. I feel empty in more way then one. The fear is still there, but its washed out. I am unshackled and greeted with open arms. I am almost free.

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