Consequences, Part IV

I am fourth in line in a pass-the-baton online writing game called Consequences, in which 11 fantastic writers each post a 250-word piece, beginning their leg with the final line of the previous post. The posts can be in any form and about anything we want, as long as they relate to a common theme: Abandoned Landscapes. Thanks to Wah-Ming Chang for administering this exercise with her ever-gentle iron fist.

Preceding me were Sam J. Miller, Jade Park, and Jane Voodikon. Next up: Anna Shapiro, who will post on wmcisnowhere.wordpress.com.

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I distinctly recalled hearing birds fighting, in normal bird squawk. How did I know they were fighting? No idea. Just one of those things you know even as you know you couldn't possibly, because birds sound the same whether they're fighting or telling knock-knock jokes or discussing politics.

The birds could have been in a dream—did they come before or after the talking deer?—but if I'd heard them for real, that meant the window was open. Which hadn't been the case last night. A telltale breeze blew over me, but I refused to open my eyes and see the other side of the bed. Even with my eyes closed I could tell it was empty. Which also hadn't been the case last night.

We'd known each other for three days—okay, not quite a relationship, but more than a one-night stand, which is something I would never engage in. I'd never even engaged in a third-night stand before, and now I'd woken to find my third-night stand having vacated the bed and escaped out the window, diminishing my hopes for a fourth night.

My apartment was on the second floor, and sneaking out would have been much easier via the front door than via the bedroom window. So how did I know he'd used the window? Same way I knew those birds were fighting, I guess. Besides, I hated to imagine the front door opening and closing—so banal. A leap out the window made the situation much more interesting.