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The Eleven O'Clock Sparrow
mysteryEveryone6 contributors · 3 paragraphs deep
My therapist asked once why I came here every Tuesday. "It's a ritual," I said. She asked what I was waiting for. I never answered. But standing there with the square empty and the sparrow missing—I finally knew. And I didn't want to.
Nine years ago. July 8th. The sparrow landed at 11:00. My sister and I were at the fountain. I was telling her I was leaving the city. Then a car hit the wall. Out of nowhere. She pushed me. I lived. She didn't.
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But she lived. For two weeks. Then an infection. Then she was gone. The sparrow landed at 11:00 on the day of her funeral. I saw it from the hospital window. It came every Tuesday after that. At exactly 11:00. For nine years. Only I could see it.
IF
Inés Ferro
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