I was sitting outside one bright afternoon, an ordinary day. I’d been sitting there most of the day pondering over the most mundane things and thinking about how pathetic my predicament was when something caught my eye. A small white shape traveling along the road in the distance. I’d thought it to have been a rabbit at first. It did hop but in the most peculiar way. It threw itself about back and forth flapping ferociously. Then I’d thought it to be a wounded bird attempting to hobble down the road. At that thought I jumped up to see if I could assist it in any way but the moment I got to my feet the bird stopped. Thinking that I had frightened it I moved at a slow pace toward it. With every step it seemed to leap back a few inches as if it wished for me to follow it and being a naive youth I complied. I suddenly had an overwelming impulse to run toward the bird and upon following my impulse i found that the object of my pursuit was not a bird but rather a piece of paper blowing in the wind. Which brings me to the subject of this letter for the paper itself was a letter. I would tell you of the contents of the letter but i dont quite remember them myself. You see, this was to be one of a long line of letters that I was to follow down the empty road. Come to think of it I dont remember what many of the other letters said only that they were always signed in the same style. The first I believe was signed H.L. Only two initials. It was always two initials. The latest letter of which I recieved was signed J.G. They meant nothing to me at the time and they don’t now but maybe they mean something to you. If they do then the people to whom those intials belong are, I am sorry to inform you, most likely dead. Which brings me back to the point of this. If you are reading this than you know what I’m talking about and maybe I can warn you before you find me. You see, I dont want to be found unlike the others. DO NOT follow the road. There will just be more letters such as this but they will not be as kind in warning you. You may have read stories that will make you weep and attempt to find the authors but dont. They are just wounded birds. Let nature decide their fate. You may think me to be cruel but I write these cruel things in attempt to do good. I feel the end fast approaching.


I write this in hopes that it
may reach someone dont make the same

mistake

we did
in


following others wishes on


an empty road.
maybe
we we’re fools

maybe we’re
ghosts
or maybe
we’re just WOUNDED BIRDS
who tried to


fly.

W.B.

p.s. if you
happen to find