Two Birds, One Stone The Prose Train
Lys absolutely hated birds. Despised every single species there was with unmatched loathing. So, of course, one would blatantly poop on her head right as she was about to approach Connor. If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought it was aiming for her. It seemed as if the universe kept targeting her, reminding her again and again of what she’d done. At the time, she hadn’t deemed what she’d done to have such an impact, but as the inconveniences built up, the nagging in the back of her mind was growing to a shrieking, like a volley of those very birds. This was supposed to be her making amends; Connor—she hoped—would understand, would help make her understand. For, what was the point of this blaming of her if not a reminder of human nature being prone to elaboration and gratification simultaneously, as well as its ability to forgive. Her steps regained vigor, and glaring at the sky at that stupid black raven, she pulled out a wipe and cleaned off her jacket. Turning back towards Connor, who still hadn’t noticed her, she hoped her plan wouldn’t fail her as it had before. She walked towards him, but just as she arrived, the school bell rang, and a tidal wave of students pushed them apart. That bird must have been aiming for her. She stumbled into history, her jacket still smelling of bird poop and Lysol, her mind replaying the scene from two weeks 66
