Creative Writing: Birdie

Birdie kicked at a stray rock with all her might, snarling with clenched teeth. It flew across the street, and disappeared into the passing crowd. Birdie sighed and ran a hand through her hair, her stomach folding in on itself. “I want to go home,” she moaned quietly, and Albert nudged her with a grin. “You want to go back to Kansas? Lame, Bernie.” Birdie rolled her eyes at the nickname, but smiled at Albert anyway. They started walking down the street, dragging their shoes across the pavement, pretending that they hadn’t just been attending their meeting. The air was gray, with a damp, smoggy tone that made the lungs of both Birdie and Al strain; they had grown up on the prairie, the most strain to their systems pollen. Birdie’s …show more content…
The girl looked like a street rat, with blond hair that was streaked with sludge but was chopped unevenly to her ears, with cockeyed eyes the color of melted snow and boy’s trousers that didn’t quite reach her filthy ankles and feet. The sleeves of her shirt were torn off, revealing knobby shoulders and the sides of her torso. Her long arms were as thin as sticks, and her bones were visible through her skin. “Course I did, Edie!” a boy called to the girl. Birdie and Albert paused to watch and listen. What they needed was an actual magical person, a wizard, but the problem was that they were all in hiding. Was this some incredibly dumb, or perhaps brave, wizard, or was it just a dumb normal person? “Wanna go?” Edie asked in a normal voice as the boy reached her. The boy, who was tall and lanky with lots of missing teeth, and the ones still there mottled black and brown and yellow, responded with a less-than-toothy grin. His hair was the same way as Edie, blond-turned-brown with dirt and grease, hacked away like someone had went at them with an …show more content…
They were fiery gold and red lilies and dusky roses, which the man waved under the nose of all the nearest ladies with a charming grin. “Lilies for a Lily?” he called in a strange accent, and no one spoke up. “Not a single Lily? A Rose, perhaps?” he asked forlornly. His voice was smooth and intoxicating. “What about...” he stuffed the flowers back into the hat, then pulled out a dove, which hooted and ruffled its feathers. “A bird?” Birdie and Albert’s eyes locked for a moment, and he gave the smallest of nods. “I’m a Birdie!” she called in a sing-song voice, and the man instantly turned to her direction. The crowd parted, and the man was soon looking directly at her. He plopped the hat back on his head, and raised his eyebrows at her. “Why, hello, Birdie. My name is The Great Enzo Ormanni.” He said the last part with an exaggerated Italian accent, his eyebrows nearly touching the brim of the hat. Birdie smiled at him, and he grinned back, unfazed. His gelled black hair quivered in the breeze, even beneath the hat, and he let the bird fly away after a few seconds, and it soon disappeared in the