This week’s photo prompt, courtesy of Madison Woods. Additional Fictioneers can be found here.
Everyone thinks of the bird as a kind of a rock star. Each morning, it flies over town and perches on the branches of the dead cottonwood tree located in the center of the old graveyard. All day it rests there, barely moving, watching the visitors, not leaving until the sun starts slithering beneath the horizon. Most believe the bird was a pet, it’s daily pilgrimage a sign of the grief it feels for losing its master, though no one knows who that might be. Not me. I know the bird’s true purpose.
In a burst of creativity, I ended up writing a second story for this prompt as well. If you want, you can read it here.