George

George’s wide eyes flitted between the little creature and its home, as he leaned in closer to the window until his weight against the cool, glass panes made them creak in their casements. His legs were hurting now from the effort of standing, and as he shifted his weight from one spindly leg to the other, he suddenly became conscious of the wooden bookcase below him. The clouded scene before him felt to George like a dream as his eyes unfocused, melting each thing into the next until he could no longer distinguish what he saw from what he imagined. His eyes blindly followed the small grey bird, its mouth wide and gaping, feathers puffed up against the biting wind, protecting the skeletal form beneath them. Panicked beady eyes searched frantically for the warmth of the nest. For a split second, eyes rotating wildly in their sockets, the tiny bird sought out the boy’s face behind the glass. George’s lips parted, and a tiny saliva droplet rolled off his tongue, slapping noiselessly on to the wood.