Alouette.

She found Him an unreasonable man.

Or was He a She.

Or She was an It.

A dog; a bird; a river; an ocean.

One could tell that confusion was at bay.

The way He sat her down--

like a child,

and told her, "No."

(His child, perhaps.)

(Or Her, if He were a Mother.)

The thing was: Michael tempted her.

Or maybe she was overthinking the situation.

It was a matter of contact, really;

Michael did not understand the concept of personal space.

Or maybe she didn't.

(Her wings did brush rather close to his own, after all.)

And it was that scowl that bothered her

Maybe not a scowl

She was exaggerating

More like--

pursed lips. A suppressed raising of the eyebrow.

Okay, possibly some irritation.

(Asshole.)

But, of course, that was not to be the last of it.

He was the persistent thing.

Interested in how,

I dunno--

large her wings were.

Or how, uh, maybe

he felt attracted to the way she carried herself.

The way her hips moved as she walked,

and how she did not slouch like the others with those giant,

meddlesome things on her back.

A higher being wasn't meant carry herself so,

um,

feminine.

(“Michael, you're pathetic--”)

So confident.

Yeah.

Like she didn't even care, which was strange

because they were programmed like that.

To care.

She didn't.

What was wrong with her?

So Michael stuck around.

Forced himself onto her perhaps.

And she didn't like it.

Or him.

Or anything.

(Not a very approachable creature.)

(He found it interesting anyway.)

And it wasn't like she tried pushing him away,

but she did.

Stuff like,

"No, Michael."

"I am busy, Michael."

"Maybe later, Michael."

It bothered him.

(It drew him in.)

So possibly his harassment received the backlash--

("Fuck off, Michael.")

--that eventually brought her to the state where she felt,

"I guess..."

weak.

Maybe it was his smile.

No, understatement--

Beaming, toothy, blinding grin.

Or perhaps the--

("Let's get married, Luci.")

("Do you even know what marriage is?")

Quite certainly, it was a driving factor of,

("Safety first, you two!")

("We’re warned, Gabby!")

("Oh fuck you, Gabriel!")

But then,

as all good things come to an end,

He didn't approve.

It was that thing about her that stuck.

The... what was it called?

"I'm done with you."

Independence.

No, they definitely were not taught to be...

"I am my own person."

Autonomous.

Most likely, that--

"You can't change me."

--Freedom was what sparked the resolve.

(Things don't always have definite endings.)

(Endings can come in many flavors.)

(Sometimes they're sweet.)

"It tastes bitter."

"What does?"

"I cut myself."

Then it was the--

Pluck! Pluck! Pluck!--

that drove the,

("STOP IT! I'M SORRY! MICHAE--")

defeathering.

Obviously, not the same as deflowering.

That's repulsive.

But He knew it felt the same.

("Can I touch your wings, Luci?")

("We are not romantic.")

("We could be.")

There's this song,

Alouette,

and it suggests you, uh,

("Not the hair, not the hair! It hu--")

remove the head of the bird

before you pick off the wings.

Put it out its misery.

Keep it from crying.

He did not want that,

so Michael followed His orders,

like a good boy.

("Michael, please! PLEASE, NOT THERE--")

Blunt its beak.

At least do that first if you're a sadist.

But Michael didn't.

That was his choice.

("Give me a voice," she hissed, "and I swear to use it against you--")

But in some,

(I guess)

vegetarian cultures; it's not sound to

kill the bird and toss it

into the fire

like He did.

(Psh.)

Like He cared.

Into the fire she went.

A sobbing, agonized, traumatized child.

And he looked on with Him.

(A sobbing, agonized, traumatized child.)

Watching the evening rain crash onto the Earth with his Father in silence.

The antebellum of heartbreak taking its course.

("If something were to happen, Mike, you'd run away with me.")

("Is that a question or...?")

("Just-- run away with me.")

©SelfTitled, 2017