Those bastard blackbirds are sitting there waiting for me.
Perched on the branches of the trees across the way they keep watching all day. Probably most of the night too, but not sure how their night vision is. Even if I can’t see them, I know they’re watching me. I close the damn curtains and turn away, and still feel their eyes burning into the base of my skull.
Those beady, pitch black, lifeless eyes.
Its too dangerous to leave the house. They’ll swoop down; tear me to shreds.
All I did was try to bake them in a pie.