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The animals are gone. All of them. Except, of course, for the parrot. The one telling me to kill.
Eli Nixon's "Pretty Bird" is a novella of epic proportions, a thrill-a-minute ride through humanity's most bizarre future that will leave you guessing until the last page. With a stellar cast of characters and an unforgettable ending, "Pretty Bird" offers an exciting look into a future where anonymity is the most prized fact of life, where things are not always as they seem, and where a single bird has the power to disrupt the entire cosmos.
Sample:
The sharpest terror comes from the unknown, but somehow Gammans Park looked even more foreboding now that I knew what was inside and waiting for me. An aluminum can crunched between my tire and the road's asphalt surface as I rolled to a stop along the curb across the street from the park. I cut off the engine. The lumpy half-parrot reached over with a thick, sausage-like wing and hooked a nub around the door handle, pulling it open. I prayed for a truck to come screaming out of nowhere and tear the door off its rusty hinges, crushing the parrot beyond repair, beyond Lazarus's power to heal, but the door simply creaked open and the parrot hopped out, then pushed it closed behind him. I lit a cigarette and followed suit.
The park entrance yawned before us in full tangled glory, beckoning us into its maw. I don't know why I'd chosen this place other than that it seemed somehow fitting. Kill the messenger, kill the harbinger. Don't litter.
I was halfway across the street before I remembered. The parrot-thing waited patiently for me as I ran back to the car and leaned into the back seat, then trotted back to catch up. There was a muted agony in its eyes, the only expression I'd ever seen it give. I didn't feel sorry for it. How could I?
Although Gammans Park covered less than an acre, the overgrown path we chose seemed to wind through the briars and trash heaps for miles. More than once I wondered if we were going in circles, but something guided me through the turns like a dark hand. With every step, I felt him more strongly. His presence was a physical weight pushing down on my shoulders, making it hard to breathe. My muscles seemed to shrivel and my bones felt rotten. I was brittle, as if the smallest breeze would shatter me and carry the pieces away. He enveloped me.
Beside me, the parrot-thing walked with faltering steps. It didn't hop or waddle anymore; it wasn't even a parrot anymore. It was something much more monstrous and familiar, a small, disfigured version of the most recognizable shape on the planet.
Ahead of us, the path widened into a clearing that was ringed by a thicket of petrified vines and thornbushes. Now the parrot-thing stumbled ahead of me and I walked the last few steps alone.
Lazarus was waiting in the middle of the clearing. The burned out jungle gym towered behind him like a dark, skeletal guardian. Moonlight and malice shone in Lazarus's eyes. The parrot thing had stepped up beside him and the two of them watched me emerge from the overgrown tunnel of dead foliage. Lazarus had a hand on the back of the parrot's bald head, his fingers absently stroking the sloughing folds of skin that hung from its rounded pate. Two rotten peas in a pod.
"So glad you could make it, yes, so very glad," said Lazarus. "You have done well, very well indeed."
I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or sincere. Something glinted in his dark eyes, and I doubted it was humor.
"I'll do it! Whatever it takes! I'll kill them. Whatever you want!" The parrot-thing shrieked, almost mockingly. My own words to Lazarus. Except the voice wasn't mine. Except the words weren't quite right.
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