This short story started out much darker (in my opinion) than it ended up being. Originally, this story was told from the perspective of a deeply self-loathing, 43-year-old man living in New York City. He hates his life, he hates himself, and was intent to set this tale up to be a memoir of his final moments—-and very brief life story—-before diving off the top of the Empire State Building to his mangled, bloody death. But! As I spent time with this character, clacking away at my laptop…a shift occurred. And, to be clear: I love, love, LOVE when this happens actually! It’s the magical moment where a character takes ME by the hand and brings me along for the ride. Every setup develops into something so different, it takes the very bones of original concept and creates an empire inning of itself…and it’s always such fun to write!! This character began to really make himself known, and instead of telling you his final moments and ending it all in a very bleak, depressive way…his story ended up being absolutely BONKERS. And, ultimately, I met a character, that’s mostly unlikable, but still so much more than meets the eye. Maybe even more than a bird’s eye. ;)
So, cherished reader…I hope you enjoy! This is:
A BIRD’S EYE VIEW
I hope I have the guts to do it. Delores might not know I snuck away yet, but, it’s just a matter of time. There’s no point in leaving a note…if she wasn’t the one who did this to me, she’d never believe me if I told her the truth of what led to this! Actually, who in their right mind would believe this? Where do I start? Well, I guess all-in-all, it starts like this:
About a week ago today, I was walking to work. That’s not an exciting intro, but what’s that got to do with anything? You’re either going to read this or you won’t! Anyways, I’m an accountant in New York City, I have an apartment on the 21st floor of a prestigious apartment complex (no, I won’t tell you the name, because if this is the end of my life, I don’t want brown-nosers crowding the place), and I have a ‘Solid Seven’ for a wife. In truth, she’d pass for 7.5 if she didn’t have the most grandmotherly name a woman can possess. That’s Delores, in case that wasn’t obvious! So, anyways, that’s the bulk of my backstory, at least. If you want more, well…too bad. This is my story, and I’ll give---or not give---as much information as I so choose. We’ll see how the chips fall by the time this is all said and done…
So, on my way to work I stopped at Geraldo’s Coffee Shop. I got my coffee; I took a sip and relished the feeling of my soul returning to my body. Coffee may as well be a Greek god when you get up at 6:00am in New York City. I walked out the door, and that’s when things changed. And it’s so small, so mundane, that if I wasn’t about to do something crazy right now as a repercussion---I’d actually expect you to piss your pants laughing at me. So, what happened? Well…a pigeon crapped on my suit.
I looked up, and the culprit is staring down at me. Mocking me, perched overhead with its feathered ass looming on a terrace. It even had the audacity to coo at me! So, with irony dripping off my finger, I flipped it the bird! Because what better euphemism is there in that situation? I ran back inside Geraldo’s and tried to clean off the evidence with a napkin and tap water, checked my Rolex, cursed at the time, and left again. I got more than halfway to the office before I noticed the shadow overhead.
I don’t remember how I knew it was the same bird? Perhaps it was the strange, ominous feeling the winged bastard emitted from every disturbed flap of it’s wings, but it was following me. Now, to be clear…I’m a fairly rational, forty-three-year-old male. Plenty of things freak me out that I don’t openly admit to: disease, getting stuck in elevators, Swiss cheese (I’m especially not proud of that one…blame it on the holes), but for the love of God, I’m not scared of pigeons in New York City. I watched it land ahead of me on the streetlight, cocking its head at me.
“Jokes on you!” I whispered, and I turned into my office building.
I got no more than five feet in before my cubicle neighbor, Tim, descended on me with a wide smile, “There you are! Listen, I got to warn you, something crawled up Pikes’ ass and bit him. He’s pissed.”
“Pike’s always pissed.”
“Yeah, but today, he’s really pissed. Some accounts are looking off, and he’s feeling some heat from upper management.”
“Super.” I said, smashing the elevator button.
Tim tapped me and said, “Hey, you got something on your suit.”
“A bird crapped on me; I got it off as best I could.”
“Well, what’d you do? Piss off a whole flock? It’s all over your back!”
“It’s what!?” I said, ripping my jacket off.
He wasn’t wrong. The entire back of my jacket was covered in a disturbed amount of white bird droppings like some abstract art piece created by an angry toddler.
“How many times can one bird take a shit?” I asked under my breath.
The elevator doors opened and I rode my way to my office floor on the 12th level. I checked myself in the bathroom, thankful that the damage was just done to the back of my jacket and that the winged demon missed my head. I didn’t want to think about the cost of dry cleaning, but it plagued me as I snuck to my desk. The workday proceeded as normal, and as I got lost in a series of accounts and figures, thoughts of the bird melted away to the back of my brain until I got off.
The clouds had darkened, and an eerie presence loomed over me. I exited the building, and the second I stepped foot outside, something happened like dark magic and I was the only man left in the entire city at that moment. Me…and it.
The pigeon was squatting on the sidewalk, and its flaming irises bore through me like I was some chosen entity it was put here to destroy. I looked around at the empty city streets to save myself from any embarrassment, and then I charged at it. I screamed, allowing every ounce of dread, fear, and madness to unleash from the deepest recesses of my core. I pounded my foot into the ground, and shouted in rhythm, “What. Do. You. Want!?”
The bird didn’t move. No matter how close I got, and no matter how loud I screamed. So, I did the next logical thing I could think of: I ran. The streets remained empty as I pummeled my way home with the bird soaring above me. I stopped when I saw a man sat at a table right outside my apartment complex. Seeing panhandlers was not acceptable. But, this didn’t look like a typical panhandler. In fact, seeing him---broad smile and wise eyes---against an empty New York backdrop told me I very much wasn’t in my typical, acceptable life at the moment.
“Come closer, brother. I have knowledge to unveil.”
“Who are you? What’s happening? And don’t call me ‘brother’…I don’t have one.”
The man sniffed, and for a moment his eyes turned pitch black, “I’m here to give you a warning. That bird is a curse.”
“Considering the damn thing has followed me all morning, and crapped on my jacket beyond recognition, I already assumed that. How do I get I rid of it?”
“You must be careful to not let the bird touch you or speak to you.” The man said.
“Speak to me? Never mind…you’re cracked! Get lost, I pay good money for these apartments, and I do that so I don’t have to deal with bums like you out here giving me advice on giant rats with wings!” I barked.
I tried to pass him and the pigeon landed two feet in front of me, blocking my pathway.
The man made a tsk, tsk sound that rang in my ears as if he was whispering into them and he said, “Temper, temper. That’s what got you here in the first place,” He shook his head. “Do not let the bird touch or speak to you. If it does, you’re too far gone.”
“Okay. Fine, I’ll play along. So, don’t let it touch or speak to me, that’s how I stop it?”
“I didn’t say that. I said, if that happens, you’re too far gone.”
I rolled my eyes so hard, I thought they’d pop right off my head, “Okay, who am I? What’s next, the Toucan of Tuesday’s Past, and the Finch of Future Sunday’s haunting me at 3:00am?” I motioned to the bird. “What’s this guy, then? The Pigeon of Present?”
“A long string of individuals like yourself have encountered this curse, and none yet have been able to escape succumbing to it. The way to beat it the easiest and the fastest, is to determine how to make value of your life. Treasure every moment. Treasure those around you. I’m here to warn you that if you don’t, this cycle will not stop. Better yourself.”
“Better myself? Buddy, you don’t have a clue how much I’m worth! I already am the best. I mean, sure, my life could be better. I could be even richer…maybe give a few billionaires a run for their wallet? And, Delores could have a sexier name, more suited to her…like Alexa. Woof! Now that’s a babe name...”
The man shook his head and whispered, “Was Delores not her grandmother’s name?”
“That’s exactly my point! And, wait a second pal, how the heck do you know that? Again, who the Hell are you?”
The man sighed and responded, “My name is of no importance. You’ll know if you succeed, and you’ll know if you fail. One way or another. The Bird’s Eye Curse has a definitive way of letting you know.”
I blinked and the man was gone. New York was back to bustling…I knew it as soon as some asshole on his cellphone, not watching where he was going, crashed into me. I turned to face my current tormentor, but the bird was gone.
I wish I could say all of that was some twisted, weird-ass dream; but it wasn’t. The Bird’s Eye Curse hung with me…and so did the stupid bird. It stalked me everywhere I went for three whole days after that. I ended up sending Delores off for a daytime retreat. I’m sure she suspected something was off, but what the hell was I going to tell her? I sure as shit wasn’t going to say that I was being stalked by a demented pigeon! And what was I cursed for anyway? Flipping the bird…to a bird? I certainly wasn’t the first to do that! I needed to know more, and the internet didn’t have a single answer.
My paranoia was at an all time high, and I used sick time to get off work while I tore through the library. I poured over books on curses, mysticism, and the supernatural to find something, anything on it. I ended up passing by Cynthia’s Bakery on the way home with at least seven books tucked away in my briefcase and zoned in on a girl biting into a pastry.
I don’t know what came over me at that moment, but bread never looked so appetizing in all my life! The next thing I knew, I stumbled into our apartment with ten bags bursting with pastries, and my bank account a whopping $120.78 less in funds. As soon as I set the bags on the counter, I dug into them, not caring that crumbs were littering the counter and floor. Actually, this new craving did me a semi-favor with that, considering I’m a clean freak, and that’s not something that would normally fly by me. Now, crumbs stockpiling the place made me feel light as a feather…not an emotion I’m used to.
I sat down, keeping the pastries as close as I could, and ignored my reflection in the mirror showcasing a newfound red tint that was developing in my green irises. I dug the books out of my briefcase and I spent hours poring over them, before the very last one stopped me in my tracks. The book was called The Magic of Animals: Wild & Uncommon Curses by Roderick Silversting and I was on Chapter 19: The Birds. That would’ve made me chuckle, if I wasn’t desperate to get to the bottom of this bullshit curse…
There were seventeen different types of bird related curses, and I skimmed every single one until I finally read the words I’d been looking for. A picture of a menacing pigeon on a telephone pole graced the page, and The Bird’s Eye Curse topped it in bold font. I read it aloud, and every word shook me to the core.
“The bird’s eye curse is cyclical, rooted in deep malice, and displeasure. The cursed individual will see the spirit bird of a previous victim similar in temperament prior. The spirit bird serves as a stark reminder of the consequences of what will happen should no personal change occur. The cursed individual will exhibit bird-like symptoms within a week of the curse being placed on them. The way to break the curse varies by personal dedication to the betterment of the individual and their environment. Unless the cursed individual can find out who placed the curse on them. If they can do that and recite the following incantation, the curse can be lifted,”
I froze. Placed! Did that mean that someone put this curse on me? My throat was bone dry, as I read the curse removal incantation:
Nolo fugere
Nolo volare
Nolo caelum videre,
Vel vitam meam ab oculo avis...
Non me, non ego.
I looked around to make sure I didn’t accidently summon Satan to a tea party in my living room, and satisfied I hadn’t…I looked up the English translation on a translator app I downloaded on my phone.
I do not wish to flee
I do not wish to fly
I do not wish to behold the sky,
or my life, from a Bird's Eye...
Not Me, Not I.
I ran over a list in my head of all the people that would potentially want me to be turned into a bloody bird and kept coming up with dead end leads.
A voice I didn’t recognize flooded the room just then, “You can’t think of anyone who wants you gone because you’re a selfish fool who can’t fathom that he’s insufferable to be around.”
I jumped up, slammed the book shut and swiveled around to face the empty, open floor plan of our apartment. I knew Delores was at the retreat, set to return home tomorrow morning, so it couldn’t have been her! And, not to be an overtly assuming asshole, but this voice couldn’t belong to a female…much less my wife.
“Figure it out, ass-wipe! Your brain isn’t pea-sized…yet.”
The living room window! I crept up to it, half expecting the bum from earlier to be hiding behind the curtain and I jumped back a foot after ripping open the drapes. The pigeon was perched outside the glass, staring at me with its blood orange irises. Its beak didn’t move, but when it spoke again, the voice rattled through the room like a tsunami.
“You guessed it, big shot.”
“SON OF A---” I shouted.
I flung the curtains closed. The words from the mysterious man outside of my apartment circled back to me. I took a deep breath and reopened the curtains to face the demon.
“Okay, well, you’re talking now, so I’m already screwed. You may as well tell me who put this fucking curse on me.”
“I’m not telling you squat until you open the window and let me in.” The bird said.
“Fat chance! I’m not letting you in!”
“I smell bread…do you got bread in there?” The bird said.
It cocked it’s head and ruffled it’s feathers. I swiped a bagel out of one of the bags, stared the damn bird in the eyes while I bit into it, and spoke with my mouth full, “You bet I do, asshole! And the window stays closed until you answer my questions.”
The bird’s voice once again, supernaturally, filled every crevice of the apartment, “Give me a bite, and I’ll tell you what I can. Please.”
I opened the window enough to drop a tiny portion of the bagel out, but as soon as I did, the bird vanished. I swiveled around when I heard a shuffling sound in one of the other bags of pastries behind me. I jumped when I saw the bird was inside.
“That’s not possible, you were just outside!”
“And four days ago, I’m sure you would’ve thought all of this was impossible, but here we are in your living room splitting carbs.”
“Just tell me what you know!” I snapped.
“Okay, well, I’m Dave. I was a construction worker for fourteen years. Got cursed about two months ago, and, well…now I’m a bird. I don’t know who cursed me, but Brian---the bird before me---found out his son did it to him. So, as to who…hate to break it to you, but you may or may not ever find out. It’s the pits, I know,” The bird pecked at a blueberry scone. “Anyways, what I can tell you, is that if you don’t figure it out, you’re destined to go batshit and turn into me. Now, I’m a little scared, because I don’t know what the Hell is going to happen to me if you don’t figure it out. Once I became a bird, I took over this body and I’ve never seen or heard from Brian ever again…and don’t kid yourself, being a pigeon, especially in New York, sucks ass.”
I thought it was stupid to ask him to elaborate, but I couldn’t help myself, “How so?”
“Uh, I mean, the most obvious reason, is I wasn’t born a bird for starters. For two, female birds somehow know you aren’t a natural born bird, so they want nothing to do with you---so, you know, kiss those impulses goodbye---if you know what I mean,” The bird winked. “Three. You’re going to spend every day fighting over scraps and dumpster diving. Four, people hate you for no reason, and sometimes they will literally try to kill you. Even children. Actually, especially children and pre-pubescent boys that are trying to feel tough.”
“That’s awful!” I said.
“I’m not even finished…the fifth one is the worst!”
I leaned in closer, and asked, “What’s the fifth one?”
“It’s when you see a bunch of other birds flying, and you don’t know why you’re compelled to do it, but you end up joining in.”
I scoffed, “What’s so bad about that? That actually sounds kind of nice.”
“Okay, well, the next time a bunch of random men are walking in formation…why don’t you join in and start copying every move they make for hours without sound, rhyme, or reason. Oh, add in, you do this because you feel an overwhelming sense of compulsion that science itself can’t explain.”
“Oh yeah, that does suck.” I said.
“No kidding,” The bird responded and blinked at me. “You don’t make bird friends, you don’t understand any sort of aviary conversation, and it’s on you to figure out shelter every night. Oh, and flying? Not at all what you think it’d be like…construction for fourteen years never once prepared me for the excruciating flight exhaustion. And lastly, when it’s all said and done…it’s not even permanent, because you become me until the next idiot comes around.”
“How long has the curse been ongoing?”
“I couldn’t tell you, but Brian said it may have been started in the 700 B.C. era because that’s when the first known documentation of witchcraft came to be. He told me the bird before him, thought that it started because of some sorcerer during the Egyptian days since they worshipped cats. Shit…wouldn’t that be the best revenge?! Some angry Egyptian cat lady decided she hated her husband and turned him into a bird to sacrifice to her cat…I mean, talk about gnarly!”
“Is there any other way to break it besides finding who cursed you and reciting the incantation at them?”
“Yeah! Like the Shaman said, you better yourself! But, people like us tend to learn the hard way, and we tend to learn too late. By the way, I hate to do this to you, but I have to…”
“Do what?” I asked.
Without warning, Dave stabbed his beak into my arm as hard as he could, leaving a stark trail of blood to flow down my arm. I jumped up and raced for the kitchen sink.
“What the Hell was that for?” I screamed, washing the open wound.
“This has been fun, but too late, is starting right now.” Dave said.
I reached for a napkin and he disappeared. Shit. Not only did I talk to him, I got roped into getting close enough to let him peck me! I had no idea how to figure out who did this to me, and if anything, my chances dropped even lower!
Rage scattered over every pore, and every blood vessel in my body. Nope! Screw becoming a better version of myself! I don’t care how bad this gets—-if I’m going out, I’m going out on my own terms. I glared at the blueberry scone. After all, look what happened after I shared my damn pastries!? And just like that, my eyes got heavy. I sealed my fate, and passed out.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of Delores’ keys in the front lock. A myriad of pastries and crumbs littered the place. She peeled the door open, and the sound was so loud it may as well have been an explosion. Apparently, another side effect of this curse shit was that my hearing was now exceptionally acute. She opened the curtains, allowing sunlight to pour unwelcome into the room. I jumped up, and against my will I flapped my arms in a panic.
“A-are you okay?” Delores asked.
I dropped my arms to my side, “How was your retreat?”
She blinked at me, “It was good. This place is a wreck though! And---” She froze when she got a good look at me. “My God, you look horrible! What’s wrong?”
I shrugged, “Oh, just a lot of things flying over my head lately. I think I caught the flew.”
She didn’t seem to pick up on my sarcasm or my crappy puns. She lunged forward and placed her hand on my forehead. Her eyes widened and she said, “You’re burning up! If you were feeling so bad, why didn’t you go to the hospital?”
“I just didn’t want to leave the nest.” I said.
I busted out laughing. This is it: I’m losing my mind! Delores didn’t stop her inspection. She saw my arm, and she flung her hand over her mouth in shock. The arm that Dave had pecked tripled in size in the shroud of night and was covered in large, bright red, egg-like sacks of pus. I popped one, and Delores screamed as white pus drizzled down my arm and spilled to the floor. I did that just to be mean, and I couldn’t rightfully say why? It’s not like I believed she was the one who cursed me. But—-then again—-I couldn’t be too careful. Maybe she was? Who else could it have been? Not to mention, I’ve always had a penchant for taking my anger out on others.
“Oh my God! I’m getting you to a hospital, right now! C’mon!” She said, and she grabbed my normal arm and tugged me out the door.
We piled into the elevator with a mirrored ceiling. I stared up at my reflection in shock and wonder. My skin was a sickly dark gray, and my eyes bulged almost out of their sockets. My irises were shock red, and my pupils zoned in and out of focus in a wild, disturbed way. My skin itched, and I swear I could feel my entire flesh prickling like feathers were just waiting to burst out of my skin. My nose had grown an abnormal amount, and when I ran my finger along the delicate flesh, it felt hard as a rock. Delores screamed and scrambled to the farthest corner of the elevator while my nails bled and popped onto the floor, immediately replaced by razored talons.
As soon as the doors opened, she bounded forward guiding me on her heels. She waved down a taxi, and all I could do was relish in the sunlight. I saw the buildings of New York as a glorious playground, just waiting to explore. Delores slapped me as hard as she could across my face.
“GET. IN.”
My stupor was broken, and I climbed into the back of the taxi. Delores threw a fifty-dollar bill into the front seat and screeched, “Hospital! Now!”
As we barreled down the street, it was as if all the birds in the city knew what was happening. Pigeons flooded our vehicle, and Delores screamed bloody murder as they smacked into the windows from all sides. The taxi driver pulled off, shouted a prayer in Spanish and did the sign of the cross over him.
“Out! Out!” He shouted.
“B-but, we need to go to the hospital,” Delores cried. “I paid you!”
“Ay, Dios Mío!” The driver shouted, tossing the crumpled up fifty back at her. “I don’t accept it! Get out!”
Delores was so panicked, piss ran down her pants. We’d only gotten as far as the Empire State Building, which wasn’t far from our complex by any means. Actually, it’s ironic. Delores told me shortly after our wedding that she picked our complex on purpose because she wanted to be as close to the heart of the city as possible. How’s this nightmare for a dream come true?
She leaned over me and opened my door screaming at the flood of birds rustling overhead. She tumbled out onto the sidewalk and fished me out by my shoulders. Birds swarmed us like a disrupted beehive and we ran inside. She barely got the door shut in all the commotion.
“Are you okay, ma’am? Do you have tour tickets?” An attendant asked her.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, this is where my tale started. It’s also where my tale will end.
While Delores was unleashing her trauma to everyone in the building who’d listen, I saw Dave. He didn’t say anything, he just soared somberly as I followed him into one of the historic building’s elevators, and as it climbed, I succumbed to my fate. So, now I’m telling you everything. No, it’s not to help you find some newfound solace or redemption in me. I’m an asshole.
I’m telling you this, because despite it all, I’m a selfish prick who just wants to be remembered here at the end. And, maybe in my own sick way, I want this to be reminiscent of an age-old Christmas story…a swan song of cautionary tale.
Should I be angry? Should I be scared? Maybe I should at least be sorry? I’m none of those things! I’m just…accepting.
You see, I didn’t tell you that I had been stealing from every account I touched. Tim, my co-worker from earlier, who was kind enough to point out the bird shit on my jacket…yeah, he’s going to be fired. I was framing him for the stolen money. In fact, he’ll end up in jail. Our boss Pike, too. I used every ounce of security detail to make an inside job look far too easy. I already told you this is my story, and I’ll give---or not give---as much information as I so choose.
I don’t know if Delores is who cursed me, and at this moment I don’t care. I only married her because she was pretty enough to suffice. And, in my mind, that still didn’t scratch the itch. Now, here I am. I’m at the top of the Empire State Building. My skin is bristling with nervous energy. Dave tilts his head at me and speaks for the first time since he and I sealed my fate last night, “You would’ve had at least another day if you hadn’t made up your mind. I hope you understand that? And, I don’t say that to be mean, it’s not like you didn’t follow in my footsteps.”
“Yeah. I just got to know, was it Delores? Did she hate me that much?”
“Do you blame her, if she did?” Dave asks. His stoic pigeon eyes zoned in and out into mine.
“Nah, climbing all the way up here, it’s like I know it’s in the cards, you know?” I said.
Dave and I stared at each other for a small eternity. After a while, Dave ruffled his feathers and cooed, “Well…do I really need to tell you what to do, now?”
I stepped to the edge. Vertigo slammed into me, and the wind slapped against my face. Delores will have every person in that building hunting me down by now, so, I don’t have much time.
As a child, I once thought it would be so cool to jump off a building and fly. My dad stopped me from testing the theory, but he’s not here to stop me now. I can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I was never a fraction of who he was, so, who knows?
I gazed out onto a flock of birds silhouetted in the burgeoning sun illuminating the city. Maybe it won’t be so bad to be as free as a bird? Curse be damned. I took one last look at my life from a bird’s eye view.
And, I jumped.
INTERVIEW ONE
Interviewer: “Can you explain what it is that you saw yesterday?”
Bystander: “Not in the slightest! Someone screamed, I looked up and some idiot had jumped from the Empire State Building. And then…”
Interviewer: “And then…what?”
Bystander: “And then, no one was falling anymore! I don’t know if I blinked or missed it, or made it up! It’s like they disappeared mid-air…”
INTERVIEW TWO
Interviewer: “Thank you for taking the time to sit and speak with us, Mrs. Trenton. I want to start by saying I’m sorry for your loss.”
Delores Trenton: “That’s very kind. Thank you.”
Interviewer: “So, I guess we’re all just very disturbed and confused on what occurred, and I don’t want to come off insensitive, but I do want to speak about your husband’s behavior beforehand, if you don’t mind?”
Delores: “Not at all.”
Interviewer: “Mrs. Trenton, do you know why your husband would want to take his own life? Especially in such a public display?”
Delores: “He was sick. And, I don’t mean in a mental sort of way. I was trying to get him to a hospital, I-I felt so guilty, and I was just trying to set things right.”
Interviewer: “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”
Delores: “I put pigeon feathers in his soup! I was told to by the Shaman outside. He said it might help us. He’d seen how terribly my husband was behaving. He told me that perhaps my husband could change, if he was coaxed into it. I didn’t understand what he meant, I just did what he said. I took the feathers and I put them in his soup a week before it all happened! I wasn’t even thinking it would actually do anything! I didn’t think he’d jump from the Empire State Building! I was just so tired of him treating me like shit. All he did was complain. And I hated the way he would bully me over my name. It didn’t matter how many times I told him I couldn’t help that I’m named after my grandmother. Sometimes, he would even make me roll-play as some bitch named Alexa!?”
Interviewer: “Mrs. Trenton, do you need some water? Maybe we should take a break?”
Delores: “No, I-I’m sorry, oh God! I don’t know what’s come over me. You must think I’m crazy.”
Interviewer: “Here, take this tissue. No ma’am, I recognize this is traumatic material…I’m doing everything I can to broach this respectfully and get the facts. This is such a baffling story. There’s a lot of unanswered questions the general public would like to know.”
Delores: *Nods*
Interviewer: “Your husband is now infamously being called Jumper 37 by most media outlets. It’s well known he’s the 37th person to jump from the Empire State Building in it’s long withstanding history, and the most recent. However, most bizarre are the surrounding unexplained aspects of what happened…”
Delores: “Like where his body landed? I don’t know! I like to believe after everything that happened, he simply…flew away.”
INTERVIEW THREE
Interviewer: “I’m speaking today with Mr. Francis Dunder. As we know, Mr. Dunder has gone viral for a video he recorded and uploaded from the strange disappearance a few days back titled Jumper 37. Mr. Dunder, thank you for joining us today. And, I gotta’ say, your footage is quite polarizing. Some argue it’s a hoax, and some say, based on a prior interview with Jumper 37’s wife, that it’s based on a---since resurfaced---Shaman curse, as old as time itself. And, I just have to ask…what are your thoughts about this?”
Francis Dunder: “Oh God.” *chuckles*
Interviewer: *Laughter*
Dunder: “Well, to be honest, I have run the whole thing over in my head a million times, and I still can’t make full heads or tales of it. All I can say for sure, without doubt, hand over my heart and swearing on my grandmother’s soul: the footage is not altered.”
Interviewer: “A lot of folks out there claim it has to be fake.”
Dunder: “A lot of folks weren’t even there! Look, I’m a videographer and a damn good one at that! I was hired to film a routine for an up-and-coming dance crew, and in the middle of it all, one of the crew members screamed out that someone was at the top edge, right above us. I whipped around, my camera still rolling, and sure as shit---the guy jumped! It was horrifying! But I knew I couldn’t stop filming, and when he got about mid-way towards the ground: Poof! Look, I know I sound crazy, but we all saw what we saw!”
Interviewer: “Can you elaborate for posterity purposes?”
Dunder: *shrugs* “He turned into a bird.”
Interviewer: “Before your footage, many people believed Jumper 37 had disappeared mid-air and that your footage got interrupted by a bird flying into the shot.”
Dunder: “That’s bullshit! Also, how the hell are people believing a whole ass human disappeared mid-air over the alternative proof?! If you watch the footage, you’ll see there were no birds—-none!—-until Jumper 37 became a bird. The angle of the bird’s flight direction, the lighting, the gasps…all of that was 100% authentic, it can’t be spliced!”
Interviewer: “Are you scared about people’s reactions when they see you in public? Some say you leaked the footage for exploitation purposes.”
Dunder: “Exploitation? Honey, all art is considered exploitation by someone. And, sure---I did get a pretty penny for distributing the rights to the footage. But, as far as authenticity goes, you won’t find a better fake, because there is no fake! What I’m telling you is the full truth. Beyond rhyme or reason, or realistic perception…whether you believe in hocus pocus, or Shaman curses, or what have you…there is no hoax! I watched it. And at least fifty other bystanders on the street also watched it. We all gasped. We were all terrified. We were all speechless. But, a fact is a fact. There was no body to find, because Jumper 37—-turned into a bird.”
This definitely reminded me of Scrooge. Very entertaining and it put me in a spooky place. The ominous felt worthy of crows or ravens, but pigeons were a super fun twist! I’ve always hated how pigeons are treated, so glad they are finally getting their justice.
I cackled out loud at the Swiss cheese phobia - “blame it on the holes!” Poor Delores. 🤣🤣
This was awesome!!! A twisted Jonathan Livingston Seagull! Thank you for a great story, my Friend. ❤️