Did You See That Thing I Posted On Faceboook? The Robin Asks, While Counting Out The Change From The

“Did you see that thing I posted on Faceboook?” the Robin asks, while counting out the change from the transaction.

“I... what?” you respond, wholly unprepared for non-grocery related questions.

“The thing about the history of ████████! I think I tagged you in it. You went, right? I remember you talked about how important it was to you at the reunion a couple months back. How did it go?”

The additional context brings your mental lenses into clarity, and you can feel the heat creep into your cheeks from embarrassment. You were so spaced-out during the entire idle conversation that you completely missed the cashier is one of your second cousins. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to have noticed your lack of recognition but he looks at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Ah, yeah, no, I- I didn’t make it out,” you fumble for an excuse that isn’t exactly a lie: “I had some car trouble.”

“Ah that’s a shame,” the Robin says, handing over your bags, “I hope you do get to go soon, it sounds like it’s right up your alley. Have a good one!” he finishes, not waiting for a response before turning away to greet the next customer. You stuff the change in your pocket and the receipt in a bag.

You leave.

no update today, i spent a lot of time at what has turned into my actual for real pays human dollars job this weekend. as a result i am too exhausted to dig into the vastly disorganized pile of cardboard boxes filled to the brim with field data and marginally-legible summarizations of other research written on scraps of fast food wrappers, an assortment of used napkins, and the interiors of empty cigarette packets, all of which comprise the sum total of all knowledge here at The Academy of Bird Sciences. by way of an apology, please enjoy the above photographs depicting the before and current state of the greenhouse.

Unfortunate victims of a bio-engineering programme gone horribly wrong, Surf Scoters live every moment of their life with a whole dinosaur skull in place of a bill. Fortunately for these malformed Melanitta the skull's mouth and nostrils are connected to the Scoter’s digestive and respiratory systems, but control of the skullmouth is retained entirely by the restless spirit of the long-dead dinosaur. 

Above, a Scoter grapples with the terrifying reality it is forced to endure while the grafted skull enjoys a tasty snack.

“I still don’t understand what the problem is” blithes the Waxwing. “Just go to the ████████! No one is stopping you.”

You pause, attempting vainly to figure out how to explain that anxiety does not work that way, how incredibly overwhelming the world is even when you are able to cope with it, how you have been trying your best all of this time, and how utterly broken you feel that your best is barely, barely equivalent to a ‘normal’ person having an off day. You wonder why you had to deal with the indignity of this conversation in the first place; Jules is only out of town for a weekend, you should have been able to pick up your stuff in peace. Your ex’s mom acting as a housesitter was the last thing you expected. Or wanted.

You sigh.

“Look,” you begin, “I appreciate that you’ve always been supportive of me, but I really don’t feel like I can do this right now.” You pause to try and search for the right words but find only the deep well of shame and sadness trying to fight their way back into control. You try to head them off at the pass: “I’m sorry. Thank you for the tea and for helping me pack. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

You leave.

The Nanotech plague of 3218 was one of the most devastating “grey goo” incidents of the common era’s fourth millennium. Unlike the nanotech plague of 3047 which merely transformed many North American trees into shining metal statues, the 3218 plague afflicted a large population of birds in Oceania and Southeast Asia. Above, a Spoonbill is rendered by the errant nanotechnology into a variety of machine parts and utensils in a cruelly ironic twist on it’s name.

The Duck knows what you did. You thought you were unseen, that you got away with your crime. You are wrong. She knows, and she will extract payment for it in the currency most dear to you. Be prepared, for she is relentless in pursuit and long of memory; you may travel far and fast but she will always find your guilt. She smells it on you, the reek of wrongdoing, and no perfumed soap can hide it.

Ready yourself, for your reckoning is at hand.