the bird was dead

Nora snuck down the stairs, her blanket trailing behind her, picking up legos and dust. Her parents’ voices rang throughout the house. Her mother's voice was shrill and dry. Her father’s thunderous and angry. They overlapped with each other, forming a storm of anger. Nora was scared. She tiptoed past the sofa and hid behind the bookshelf. From there she could see her parents arguing in the kitchen.

“You didn't fucking tell me she was going to be there.”

“You should have known Emmett. I sent you a text a week ago.”

"You did not. I swear to God.”

“Check your fucking phone.” She grabbed his phone off the table. “Check it.”

“I know its not there.”

“Then fucking check it!”

They continued on, each of their faces contorted with madness. Her mother didn’t look like her mother. Her father didn’t look like her father. Nora tried to think of good things. Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, she sang to herself, thinking it would help. It did not. Suddenly, a loud bang echoed through the house. The parents stopped abruptly and looked over to the glass window above the sink. Outside of the window sat a flower pot, the morning light glistening on the damp petals. In the pot lay a bird, its wing twisted back and its tiny feet kicking and twitching. After a few seconds of struggle, it stopped. The parents looked at each other, stunned. Nora began to cry.