The crow lay upon her neighbor’s frosty lawn, a frozen bundle of feathers and bones. Its legs were curled up beneath its body. Its dark eyes stared at nothing. She briefly wondered whether the bird was dead when it fell from the sky, landing with a thump among the bright Christmas decorations littering the lawn.
She shook her head. A dead bird falling from the sky portended nothing. No, she reassured herself, she didn’t believe in omens. She refused to extract meaning from the random events of life.
She really ought to have looked both ways before crossing the street.
This was written in response to Velvet Verbosity’s 100 word challenge. This week’s word was “bundle.”