When she woke, a startling bird encased her vision, like a face pressed up too close. At first she thought she was still trapped in sleep, she blinked and blurred the figurine then hoisted herself up. Three centimeters in height, it was shaped by wire with a golden, almost skin like fiber wrapped tightly around its form. The bird, so detailed, she lowered herself to its height and peered at its beady eyes… Its intensely shaped beak, open, waiting. Tiny wings spread out, each feather visible, so real. It was perched, ready to escape. Clare plucked it off the stand and got ready for work.

  The golden bird bounced against her heart, tucked away in the breast pocket of her coat. She liked to walk to work; it gave her a sense of normality, this pace, this strain of muscle and sting of flesh in the cold morning air. Along the way she passed cafes, just opening - the store owners yawning while flipping on the heat. She passed tall, neck craning buildings; they looked so sterile and cold in winter, no sunshine to reflect against their smooth windows. She passed the tram and the pot hole in the pavement where rain collected and stained long jeans. As she stepped over the hole, something caught her eye, a reflection of gold. Clare took a step back and paused. A few people passed her by without blinking; a bike ran through her sight. For a moment, she felt frozen in time. She glanced at the puddle in the hole, like a child looking for starfish in salt eroded rocks but nothing seemed to be there but old grey water, and her face among it - a little startled, curious...

  'So he has the nerve right, to push me away. And you know what he says?' Mari paused to take a breath from retelling the events of the previous night. Clare nodded patiently, absently patting the bird from the outside, the wire prickling her skin. Mari bumped her with her shoulder.
'Sorry, what?'
'Welcome back air head.' Mari grinned but it was brief. 'Right. So he goes "I just don't think we're working out you know?" I know?’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘I mean what the hell! No, I do not "know". What does he expect me to know when he doesn't talk to -What?' She put her hands on her hips impatiently.
'There's something in your eye...' Clare squinted. A fleck of unnaturally bright gold illuminated her friends left pupil. She frowned, went to step closer, but Mari rolled her eyes. 'I think someone had a bit too much of the good stuff last night.' She patted her on the back sympathetically, 'I'll tell you about Mark later, when you re-emerge.' When Mari left Clare turned rapidly and searched for anything that could have made the light, but nothing greeted her back. She shook her head roughly and closed her eyes.

*

Supermarkets exude a lot of noise. It's not pleasant, it's not musically inclined, it's just noise. Clare leans heavily against the trolley handle like many of the post work shoppers who seem to have, like her, taken a trolley for the sole purpose of support. She strolls idly through the fruit and veg section, inhaling their organic aroma and day dreaming. She pauses at the oranges instinctively and stares at their color; they enter her eyes, her senses. They block all input. She’s been hypnotized. Someone hits their trolley into her knee and the moment is broken. She takes in a sharp breath and wonders what the hell just happened.
Next to her, children run past, yelling, and playing cops.

‘Pow! Pow!’ One imitates, as the other hides around the corner, his head full of blonde hair visible as he emerges sheepishly, before...

‘Pow!’ He runs, laughing hysterically, ‘I got ya! I got ya!’

Their mother walks past Clare with a determination bordering on hysteria. She bumps into her shoulder without apology, grabs the kids by the arms, almost dangling them off the ground and proceeds down the aisle. One of the boys kicks something whilst dangling and it goes flying. Something golden, hurtling towards her. She stoops down, prepared to catch it, blinks, and it's gone. Jesus Christ! She stays stooped for a moment, not believing her eyes. She looks back and forth and under the shelf then makes a sound that almost states her insanity.


All the way home spots of gold burn her, but when she halts, they're gone. She feels close to tears and for no reason at all. This morning was perfect, just before she opened her eyes, it was perfect...

She clicks the locks and pushes open the door to darkness and a stale cold. Untouched, this place is. It annoys her sometimes. A chink of something can be heard from her room and a light - bursting forth from the space under the door. Determined, Clare kicks it open and is blinded. One, two, three, vision returns. She hurries to the window with arms in front, prepared to hit into something unexpected. She slides it open and with a whoosh of air, her hair is thrown back like a curtain. Feathers sweep over her face and she spins around in amazement. Golden light sparks forth from every corner, shattering the darkness. The wire bird beats madly against her chest. Clare cups her hands together and thrusts them forward and into them lands the bird. Perfectly shaped beak, golden feathers, sprawled wings. Her mouth agape she stares, and stares - it speaks.

'Your time has come.'