You drove into yourself. You lifted your black wings to fly, up from the pavement, slowly you rose. You
moved the car under yourself, a flapping animal, your body tensing, your foot on the brake. Your wing,
your body, your beak hit the windshield. Startled, you jerked back from the wheel and called out. But you
rose up over the roof, over your own head, to fall back to the pavement, dying, behind yourself.