Downey's "Classics" Presents: Quaaludes, Probably

Apparently, the best way for a writer to make a name for himself today is to do various writing jobs that doubles as an advertisement for his blog until he is ready to write a novel, which pays more than a job writing for a magazine. Sure, the writer could just skip a step and write the novel right away, but that shit is difficult, and without something resembling a cultivated audience, it would arrive in bookstores to general apathy. And that's even if it makes it into stores.

So, the writer of this now frequently updated blog is trying to stay in the swing of blogging. This requires putting up a post a day. Rather than write something off the top of his head, though, he is burning "back catalogue", or material he wrote for classes that would get underappreciated, because he is tired on this day. Below is...something. Enjoy.

"Quaaludes, Probably"
by John Downey

You don’t think that this creature is calling for attention, do you? Hey, let’s read its mind, see what we can dish up. There is no ‘animalistic fallacy’ here, you just can’t speak BIRD. She looks down—
What? You thought that it was a male bird? How silly of you—
To see the desert that separates herself from all that she holds dear in the world. Call me optimistic when I say that this hurts her, because that means that she’s capable of feeling happiness. Should she wait her for her friends to come? WILL her friends come? Should she stay on her perch and wait for her friends to come, hailing them when they approach her line of sight? Does she even want to see her old friends again? Maybe she should become friends with the earthworms and mice, making friends out of prey, always being able to hold something against them.
Maybe her friends are hiding from her in the trees. That’s what she’s scanning for. Some of her friends don’t have the backbone to tell her that she can be painful to be around, that she makes too much of a scene, that she’s been known to scream from rooftops when things don’t go her way. Standing on a perch hurts her, because that’s proving her ‘friends’ right. But maybe they aren’t in the trees, and that rustling is just a bear, or maybe it’s food that she could use right now. What if it’s not, though, and one of her loves flies by when she’s not looking? On that note, she stays where she is, and reconsiders all possibilities every 5 minutes, until her feet can’t take anymore and she has to leave her perch.
Drama queen.