He stared glumly out at the rain. The birds were perched on the telephone cable, their wings drawn tightly around the small bodies, shivering from the cold and wet. He could not see them that clearly – they were too far off for him to see – but he knew that they were cold. It was the bird in him, he thought, shivering slightly at the thought.
Suddenly, he felt as though the bone in his right arm had snapped. He cringed, his arms, both now, hanging uselessly by his sides. Then his back cramped and he fell to the floor, crying out to the Lord. He felt as though someone grated the hair of his head, and he screamed, bending over in agony.
Then the pain subsided just as suddenly as it had started. He raised his head, eying his surroundings. Nothing had changed there. No one had seen him transform into a huge bald eagle. He felt like weeping, but no tears came to the large bird’s eyes.
Friday Fictioneers, 6 May 2016
Photo prompt provided by Roger Bultot