“See that thing?” Holly whispered.
“What thing?” Harold mumbled, eyes barely lifted from the miniature screen of his new smart-watch.
“That thing!” Holly covered her brother’s wrist with her hand. “Over there.”
Harold sighed and looked around. Old metal fences that once cordoned lines of people. Rotten concrete. Musty dankness. A deserted skating rink. What’s to see?
“Nothing,” he shrugged.
Holly exhaled exasperation. “That bird,” she hissed.
“Oh. A brown pigeon. Unusual coloring.”
His sister’s fingers tightened around his wrist and he grimaced at the pressure on his watch. It was new. She’d ruin it before he could show it off. “Hey, let go! What?!”
“I don’t care about its coloring. It is staring at us!”
“It’s just a bird.” He scrutinized the gate. His friends were very late.
“Yeah? Bet you won’t say that when it calls millions of its friends to dive in and peck us to death!”
For Crispina‘s Crimson’s Creative Challenge