Every Bird Must Fly

How far is it to Cleveland if the gull has to walk and carry a broken wing?

Whatta buncha lousy godamm luck…whassamatta buddy you ain’t never seen an old grey gull with a godam broken wing? Twenty-eight miles to Cleveland as the bird flies? Hey! How far is it if the gull has to walk and carry a broken wing? Ha ha ha! That’s a good one.

Damn, this hurts! Ya know, when you break a wing bone, even a little one, it really hurts! The street is really hot on my feet. Hey! There’s Gus …yeah Gus. Hey! Hey, Gus!

I’m fucked up, man. I’m about outa my fuckin’ mind here. Gotta get to somewhere cool. Can you believe I broke my wing like this? Just trying to unload one on a couple tourists. Hit that freakin’ guy wire. What? What? The bridge is about to close? So that’s why there’s no traffic on this side. I didn’t realize I was on the road until just now. Shit.

Oh man. The bridge is going down. Here comes the traffic. Forward or back? Back, yeah back. OK Gus I hear ya! I’m cool.  Shit. Damn wing. Can’t fly. Shit.

Hey buddy! Slow down! I’m walkin’ here! What the fuck? Hit? I’m fuckin’ hit? He hit me! Godammit! Godammit! They finally killed me. What’s fuckin’ next?

Author: hsderkin

H. Scott Derkin, winner of the prestigious Delizon Publishers Annual Short Story Competition in 2013 lives and works in Toledo, Ohio with his wife Carol and a scruffy miniature poodle mix named Dylanbob. By not taking in to account his shortcomings, Carol has managed to stay with him for 48 years. Derkin pursues his livelihood there in a prosaic trade. He may be found summers at the helm of his sailboat, making passage around the islands of western Lake Erie; and in the time not taken up by working, writing and sailing, Derkin might be found playing drums and recording blues, country and rock & roll music with his friends.

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