A Witty Experience

Droplets of rain bleed into my notebook, The pen rests in my hand, Yet my mind drifts, Wandering with the cool breath of summer. A tap! A sudden jolt pulls me back. I turn, but it is no hand. A turkey clings to my gown, its beak tearing at the very cloth I wear. Its eyes… sharp, burning, Accuse me as if I have awakened its wrath. The door creaks open… and more emerge. An army of turkeys, their wings spread like soldiers on parade, marching towards me. I glance at my gown, red as spilled blood, a fatal invitation. I run. The earth betrays me, tripping me into its arms. I fall, and the dust swallows my breath. When I lift my eyes… not turkeys, but the local goat, horns low, rage in its stance. I scream. I shout. I cry as though death itself charges upon me. Because it does.