Chocolate Bird

I hate chocolate. I hate birds too.

One day, I went for a walk in the forest. The sun was shining and the birds were silent because I had shot them all with tranquilizer darts yesterday. I hummed to myself, my spirits were high, and unhampered by obnoxious squawks and chirps.

But then I saw something in the middle of the path.

It was a bird…

...made out of chocolate.

My anger rose. I lifted my foot to stomp on the hideous abomination, but it began to speak to me, “I shall never forsake you if you never forsake me. You shall have anything you desire, if only you spare my life.”

“Forsake this!” I said, stomping the chocolate bird into the mud, “All I desire is for you to shut up.”

I smiled, the birds were silent once more. I continued down the path, inhaling the sweet, refreshing air of my sanctuary.

A breeze blew through the verdant forest. Then the trees began to cry. They did not cry salt-water tears, but limp birds. Thousands of feathered bodies rained down on me. They knocked me to the ground, bruising me. Tiny beaks stabbed at my tender skin.

“What the hell?” I exclaimed shaking my fist at the leafy canopy.

Then I remembered the tranquilizer darts....

Now I am buried under a pile of silent, sleeping, birds; waiting for them to wake up.