Nov 09, 2018, 06:29AM

And That’s When She Came Pecking At My Window

Chemically enhanced coffee and avian epiphanies lead RQ to a euphoric twist.

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As I went out yesterday morning I saw a dove shoot out of the spruce. She was screaming in a language only we birds can hear, and she was panicking. “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT! ACT—” That was all I heard before she disappeared into the deep blue sky. I was mildly irked, no coffee yet, but instead of shouting back into the void of the morning sky, I looked back down and continued on my path. I was going to the general store to get my crumpets, buns, bagels, and butter. Oh, and some tea, and honey.

And coffee, of course—three blends: Fast Forward, Avian Drift, and Light Speed. The last one actually contains trace amounts of medical cocaine, and significant amounts of medical methamphetamine. I’m feeling great right now! I might write 50,000 words today, and they’ll all be perfect. Not good—perfect. I’m a god and the nucleus of all society. The man that said that five years ago has now officially been cancelled by the culture, so I’m claiming it as my own. I looked into the eyes of the ZEBRA and saw the weeping face of God. So don’t come knocking on my door with energy scams and dubious religious persuasions. I’m of multitudes and contain an infinity of possibilities. Ask me about your future, your father, your girlfriend. I have all the answers now.

Upon entering my home—my old, lonely, dusty home—I was struck with a vision of certainty that I wasn’t alone. The air had changed: I could see their shape in the vapor trails. I moved cautiously, placing my grocery bags gently on the foyer’s floor and moved toward the kitchen. Nothing. I grabbed a machete and started upstairs. Before I could get up a full flight, something fell over. A pot, a plant, an urn—something. I raced downstairs and saw a hen-sized hole in the window above my breakfast nook. Finally I had definitive proof that I was being spied on and that this wasn’t “all in my head” like so many of my friends said. I’m not crazy, just a little unwell—no more! Below the Loony Toons style hole in the window was a note stabbed into the table with a blade bigger than mine. It read simply:


I was never good at foreign languages. I think it was Spanish? I’m looking at it now, and I’ve tried every encyclopedia in sight. Nothing. Maybe it’s code. Why would Bennington be pranking me again? I just got him that sales associate job. Or was it canvassing? I don’t remember. All that matters is that he’s doing well, and he’s been very supportive and here for me since Monica left.

Wait a minute. This scrawl, this claw-writing—I recognize it. This is a message from my wife. She was here. That was it. Her smell, her moves. She’s in trouble, she needs me. But she’s back. My wife is back, and I must find her.

—Follow Rooster Quibbits on Twitter: @RoosterQuibbits


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