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The Eleven O'Clock Sparrow
mysteryEveryone6 contributors · 5 paragraphs deep
"She always loved birds," he said. "Your sister. She told you that once, remember? By this fountain." I didn't remember. How could he know that? "The sparrow came the day after she died. Every Tuesday since. Only you see it." "That's not real," I whispered. "No," he agreed. "It's not."
"If it's not real, then she's not real either," I said. He didn't answer. He just pointed at the fountain. The sparrow was there. But it looked at me. Really looked. Then it flew toward me. Straight toward my face. I screamed.
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