Neighborhood Watch, by Brianna Autrey

The silence complimented Ava’s forlorn spirit, and sapped away her motivation. The last few days blurred; did she eat, shower?

The silence was broken by incessant, lilting tweets turned obnoxious cawing. Ava followed the noise; the neighborhood quail pecked at her kitchen window.

Dragging her bones outside, she replenished the feeder. The quail remained defiantly, and attacked the window once more. Ava smiled, lips cracked. A moment later, she sat on the lawn chair and bit into a brilliant red apple.

“I haven’t fed you in a while,” Ava whispered. The quail flew to the birdfeed to dine with her.

From: Friday Flash Fiction

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