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That Smell

As soon as I entered my backyard, I could smell it. The smell of death. I had gone outside to water the plants and it was there, lingering in the air like smog on a city. I pinched my nose and searched the yard for its source.

I gasped and jumped back when I had found it. A bird’s nest had been knocked down, and the poor little birds didn’t stand a chance. Their tiny bodies were scattered around. I went to my garage and pulled out a shovel and buried them one by one. Four in all.

Just as I unraveled the hose and turned on the water, I smelled it again. Impossible, I thought. I had buried the birds on the other side of the yard, about 3 feet deep. There must be another bird that I didn’t see yet. I scoured the yard again, and didn’t see another baby bird.

I did, however, see a partially buried human hand.

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