Flight School: Prey

The Old New

Hello.

The boy jumped—startled by the sudden sound. His eyes darted around, searching for the source of the voice that so strangely sounded ethereal.

"Who?"

There was a sound like the jingling of bells; a melodious laugh that came from the back of his mind.

Over here.

Io swallowed, backing against the wall as his eyes continued to scan his empty room. "Why...can I hear you? I can't see you."

Well, why not?

Io believed it was his question to ask. Nevertheless, his mind struggled to catch the beat of his heart—reason pulling on the reigns of imagination. "I can't see you," He repeated with a voice that stumbled near the end.

By the window.

He had his reasons not to listen to this strange voice conversing with him seemingly through his consciousness, and he voiced this immediately.

"I-I'm not going there." Boundaries existed for a reason, and they were not to be crossed—

Then I'll come in.

*

"Don't!" Io had intended to shut his windows and, perhaps, take cover underneath his sheets, when he realized that the option was rather late. Instead, he took up the only defense he had—a pillow. "I've heard of people who can make their voices sound as if they're coming from somewhere else but, you know, this isn't the time. Also, it's not nice to invite yourself into someone else's house."

His gaze was fixed on the window by his bed as words spilled out in panic. Far immune to the insane racing of his heart, Io was not bothered by the ringing in his ears that was often the result of this.

There was a sudden movement—in which he shrank from involuntarily, recoiling from the open space that light flooded through.

It was the sparrow.

Hello.

The boy's head tilt to the side in confusion. "But you're—" A bird. It was only a bird.

His eyes widened upon the light that gradual realization brought with it, and the only natural reaction for him was to step away.

"What are you?" Io backed onto his bedframe, darting under the covers as soon as possible.

But still—regardless where he was or whatever he was doing, her voice was as clear as water, a strange golden richness in her tone.

You're afraid? Of a sparrow?

"Y-You're not a normal sparrow!" The village boy pointed out the obvious, apprehension filling the mind that so often let it in.

Oh look at me—how am I not a harmless sparrow?

"You can talk, for the matter," He backed intelligently, poking his head out of the covers for a brief moment.

I can, yes. But you have to be listening. You can hear me.