Lily Wilson

Hope is the Thing with Feathers

Urgent, terse whispers trickled their way through the warped floorboards above Maya’s head. She rolled over, frowning, and batted them away- but they insisted, wrapping around the shells of her ears, seeping into hazy, confused dreams of shadows and stars. It’s gone, it’s been taken. Are you sure he left it there? Maybe he was confused. No, it’s gone, and whoever took it is a dead man walking.