No mushrooms. No trespassing. No loitering. No blood. No talking to strangers—An entire vocabulary surrounded around the word "no."
Restless was she, and tired. Stunted, even. And then she saw the stranger's songbird. What a mighty sight! It was brazen red streaked with fierce blue, yellow and indigo. Emerald eyes showed a dulled flatness. It couldn't be helped. She sat there riveted, unable to take her eyes off of it. She was possesed with a single-minded intensity to posess it in every form possible. She crept up and ensnared it with her mouth, strangling its cries with her own labored chomping; bones crunched and she coughed up feathers. How delightful! And when the voices asked if she knew what had become of it, she whirled around and replied with the only word she knew:
"No."
