“There’s a bird in the tree.”

There are two people. They look more or less the same, except one is a child with dark wings on their back, and the other is what seems to be the futuristic version of the child, and there are bandages peaking from beneath the back of their coat.

Who knows why.

The older glances around the park. “There are a lot of trees, kid. Which one?”

“That-” a finger pointing to a pine on the right. “-one.”

“There’s a bird?”

A squawk sounds from the tree. The two watch as a mass tumbles from the leaves.

Feathers spill across the pavement.

The bird is falling, had fallen. Who knows why.

“Yes, that’s the bird.”

“Why’s it falling?” Why’d it fall.

The kid pouts. Their wings jostle with indignation. “Who knows why. Maybe it wanted to.”

A pointed stare. “You sound like you’re trying to be deep.”

“Well, the bird sure fell deep.”

The kid is right. The pine tree is tall and the bird fell from the top of it, clutching skinny branches and needle like leaves in its claws, its pointed talons without feeling, its wrinkly skin.

“I wouldn’t want to fall like that,” the kid continues, looking thoughtfully at the sky. “Sounds painful. Would you ever fall like that?”

And the other person feels their arms and legs twinge, flashes of blood.

“It is painful.” Bandages loosen slightly. There is blood on the pavement. There is a feather floating towards them, and the kid’s wings sway in the wind. “And.”

Who knows why.