Magpie

I crush its wings against the wall, slamming and pounding until blood spews from every vein, splattering across my face and lighting up my screams with deepest crimson. It lashes out with its sharpened claws, its dagger of a beak, at me, hurting me, tearing me to shreds; blood bird and blood mine mingle on the white-flashing wings in the light cast by my fear. That fear burns, flaming, beneath my skin until I glow, glittering gold, only to destroy, to cripple, with fists and tender fingers. The bird gurgles. Its hoard gleams from around me; stringy feathers, shiny jewels, thick fur, silky hairs, shredded paper, gristly bones, polished pebbles, empty wrappers, beetle shells, bottlecaps. All of it shines golden. Beneath my hands, the bird's green shimmers. It shakes. Scarlet dribbles to the floor.

Magpie at heart, it croaks. Colorful and meaningless, so afraid. I free one hand to swat at its head and crack its neck in a pure motion. The yellow eyes only glitter back at me. One feather drops to the ground like a white steel blade; a green one follows it; finally, one black shadow descends. A little cloud of dust puffs upward from its landing, settling upon the golden glow of my fragile toes. The room darkens. Only I glow now, alone in the dark, and it utterly terrifies me; I can see nothing but my repulsively blood-stained skin and thick, empty blackness. The magpie cackles.

"You're supposed to be dead!" I scream.

The laughter ceases. It withers in my hands, falling away to ash, crumbling upon the ground and leaving my fingers black and filthy—and then I’m truly alone, trapped in the fast-fading light of my last emotion, falling into my own senseless corpse. The last glimmer of gold disappears, abandoning me with ash, which fills up my lungs and forces me to wheeze, cough, hack for breath, and finally drown.

I asphyxiate.