Birdfood

The eagle sits atop its perch, watchful for its prey. Cars zoom past below, their drivers thinking only of their destination. The train rumbles by on the overpass, taking its freight from here to there. Kids fish at the pond across the street, completely oblivious to the hunter, or its prey, just beyond the tall rock.

Rush hour ends, traffic dies down; the kids finish fishing and walk home. The eagle stands watch, waiting. A bass jumps in the pond, but the eagle ignores it. Such things are not its prey, this has been ordained. So the hunter waits. It is patient, for its prey will show itself soon.

The sun sets. The town’s nightlife starts. A little later, it stops. Deer forage near the lake, foxes hunt some mice, and raccoons eat the entrails of fish left on the banks. Still, the eagle watches. Soon, it will attack and eat.

The sun rises. Across the road, past the pond, the monument is lit. Prometheus, still chained to his rock, awakens with his wounds recovered. Seeing him stir, the eagle takes flight, gains altitude, and dives in attack. The hero shields himself to no avail. His winged torturer claws his stomach open, tearing Prometheus’ liver out with its beak. Gaining its prey the eagle takes flight to its perch and eats for another day.