Tales Of The Gurrier

The glow from the tv sent light and shadow flickering over his face. He was tired.

How long? Days now.

He knew exactly what to do.

Each day he would bring one of them out to the shed and do away with them.

The birds had been the first to mention it.

‘Caw. Caw. Caw’

It was only later he realised they were talking to him.

He caught one. Brought it to the shed, to have a proper discussion. But it was all soft inside, like the others. No springs or cogs at all.

‘Caw. Caw. Caw’

It was hard to ignore their logic. Just one more, maybe two, then he would be done.

He had been watching tv for days now and knew exactly what to do.

The second bird wouldn’t fly any more, though he replaced it’s wings with something much better, nor would the third. It reached the hedge at the end of the garden before the cat found it.

The neighbours complained on Saturday. He could hear them moving the furniture about all day. Perhaps it was a meeting. The birds had told them something.

No, the birds told them nothing he had seen to that. It was all very well giving him the idea, but could they be trusted?

Springs and cogs, good, clean, oiled metal parts. You could put your trust in those. Give him a good Swiss watch any day over a dirty bird.

Tick Tock. Tick Tock. Caw. Caw.

The birds came back the next day and the next. There were more of them each time. He told Emma, but she shushed him. She said, she could not see what the fuss was about. She would see better when he gave her, her new eyes.

The woman in the canal had been a mistake.

The birds knew, he could feel it, and the neighbours.

The birds had told them about the woman in the canal. She had a pretty face. He was sure she had cogs and metal inside, like him, but no, just soft and melty. He replaced the parts he took with his own creations, all shiny clockwork, measured, precise, punctual.

But she was wrong inside, and they did not fit, and she sank in the canal. He was sad at first, but then relieved because it had not been right what he did and now she was gone to the bottom of the canal. Next time he would get it right.

Steam was the answer of course. Steam power, he read it in a book, borrowed from the library but then he had to bring it back and when he went to find it again it was gone and he couldn’t ever find it again, not even the birds knew where it was or Emma, even with her new eyes, but that was later on.

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This weeks creepy piece of Flickr fiction was brought to you using this gloriously creepy photo from Flickr user Lauren.Rabbit. Other participants this week are Elimare, Tadmack, Aquafortis,and Chris. Click on the links to read their versions. 

This entry was posted on Friday, September 22nd, 2006 at 7:22 pm and is filed under Flickr Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.