Firebirds
By Marita O’Connor
I straightened the corner of the tablecloth and grinned as my phone rang. “Abby… You’re late.” I teased.
She chuckled. “Why? Is today important or something?”
“Abby…”
“Emma, relax. I’m on my way now. They held us over. Some glitch in the atmosphere. I’ll be there soon.”
“Ok, love.” I beamed. “Just wait till you see!”
“Ems… you went fancy, didn’t you?”
I fiddled nervously with my lace skirt. “…No…”
She chuckled. “I love you, goofball. I’ll —-” Nothing but static.
“Ab?”
The jazz on the kitchen radio changed to a frantic announcer with intermittent static. “GET INSIDE! FOR –LOVE OF —ANYONE –STILL HEAR ME! —FIREBIRDS– COMING! — NOT — YEAR — NOW! —INSIDE! —–”
“Oh, God! Abby! Did you hear that!? The firebird migration’s a year early! I’ll bet that was your glitch!” Nothing. “Abs!” I looked outside and could already see the outline of the massive alien ‘birds’, electricity arcing between them. It would be beautiful, if it wasn’t deadly. “Why only 9 years this time?” I muttered.
I saw Abby’s car turn onto the street. She didn’t see the firebirds! I ran out on the deck, waving my arms. She smiled, then looked confused. “ABBY! Hurry!”
“Em, what’s wrong?!” She was taking too long getting out of the car.
“FIREBIRDS!” I screamed. The arcs were decimating cars and streetlamps. She bolted, abandoning her things, to run faster.
As she reached the door, I grabbed her shoulders and yanked her inside, our combined momentum throwing us in a heap on the floor. As I kicked the stone door shut, the energy blew out the window beside us.
“That… was close.” Abby panted.
I touched her face. “Happy Anniversary.” I breathed.
“Maybe I’ll cancel the firebirds for our 11th, hmm?” She grinned.
Matt Doyle Media 