#stiffbird

     it stands stationary, just opposite one of the many houses of god that litter the small town of derry. holy places always inspire a sense of safety; how fun to  t e a r  that sense to   s   h   r   e   d   s   .

 KNEES ARE PULLED UP to his chest once he settles properly  just by stan’s  side,  and  squinting ‘gainst the afternoon sun,  georgie raises his head toward the sky & the trees that loomed overheard.  he catches a glimpse of the  bright blue bird  stan’s looking at through his binoculars.   urgently,  as if his whispers might scare the bird away,  georgie turns to him and hisses:  “stan! stan, what kind of bird is that? it’s so pretty!”  the little one turned his head back to the sky,   and muttered the inquiry more to HIMSELF  than to the other:  “’re you supposed to name the birds, too, when you’re bird-watching?” 

“GOOD LORD!   you look scared to death.   the hell was that?”  SISTERLY INSTINCTS  taking over  -  immediately going over to the  STRANGER,  offering him a hand up off the ground.  dark brows are creased in concern to look upon the younger,  expression    WORRIED.  “---   you okay,  kid?”