When I woke up in the morning I was a magpie. Which was a most peculiar thing. I stared at myself for some time. First, shocked. Then, bewildered. Finally, after considering that this is a most extreme circumstance and there must be a logical explanation. I came to two conclusions. The first, it’s a dream and I shall wake up shortly. Secondly, a most wonderful experience has been afforded unto me and I should attempt to make every endeavor to explore this opportunity.

I was not your typical magpie you see. First off I was purple. Secondly, and more curious, I was still of my normal stature, six feet in height. I knew I had to be a magpie because I recognized myself in the mirror. Well, that is what I remember of birds from my primary school days. I stared at myself as this rather large, purple, magpie standing in my rather small bathroom. Which felt an awful lot smaller since I became bird shaped with tail feathers and all that.

I wondered what my rather shy and diminutive wife would say about me being a rather large bird. What would my children think? Had they been turned into magpies as well? What about my co-workers down at the actuary firm? That devil Lucas would get a kick out of it I bet. “Good Morning Mr. Magpie sir.” He’d say with a chuckle. He always had a smart quip about something.

I decided to leave the bathroom, after all I was a bird now. There was no need to brush my teeth, what with having a beak and all. No need for a shower, a bird bath maybe. I chuckled or squawked, not entirely sure which, at the thought of a giant six foot purple magpie bathing in the fountain in front of city hall. What fun that would be! How the children would laugh to see it, how the adults would laugh, although I think some of the more sporting fellows would like to make me a trophy above their mantle.

I turned around and knocked over some toiletries sitting on the sink with my tail feathers. I turned around in a hurry to see what I had done and in doing so my tail feathers swung around again and knocked the decorative towels hanging on the towel rack. ‘Oh, dear’ I thought to myself. ‘I must be more careful when moving in small spaces. Having a tail is a new thing and I must learn it properly.’

I carefully walked, strutted, hopped, whatever form of ambulation that birds take I took it, very carefully out of the bedroom and down the stairs to see about the rest of the family. There was no one in the living room, no one in the kitchen, dining room, study, the children’s room was empty as well. Had I overslept? OH NO! I’m late for work! Wait, I’m a giant purple bird. What kind of work is there for me? Besides a freak show. Well, do I even have to work? After carefully thinking for a few minutes I realized that I’m still in a dream. It must be a lucid dream where I can control the dream and the outcome. Yes, it’s just a dream. I should be waking soon. But, it doesn’t feel like a dream. How do I know the difference? Ah, yes pain. Self-injury will determine if I am in a dream. The whole ‘Pinch me’ argument. Well, I don’t have an opposable thumb anymore, or any fingers for that matter. I have talons. Feet. I have feet, no toes but still feet. Can’t really scratch myself too well. I look around the living room, couch, recliner, TV, curio cabinet. Nothing substantial. I hop over; I walk over to the kitchen and look around table, stove, refrigerator, cabinet. Wait! The refrigerator is quite a substantial object. Sturdy, anchored into the wall in case of an earthquake and the children. It’ll do nicely. I walk over to the refrigerator and prepare myself. If this is a dream there’ll be no pain and the refrigerator will turn into a cupcake or some other nonsense. If this is reality, it’s going to hurt.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the inevitable. I gently lay my head on the refrigerator tapping the spot where I shall put my head. I take a few steps back, and lunge forward with a great burst of speed towards the spot on the refrigerator previously destined. There was pain, lots of pain. Then darkness.

What….what time is it? There’s a circle thing with two moving sticks on it up on the wall. Is that a clock? Yes, yes it is a clock. Blast it! What time does it say? Why can’t I remember? I learned this as a school boy. Never mind. It doesn’t matter now. I have to leave this nest. Where is the door? Ah there it is.

I looked down at the door, cocked my head to the side, and tapped it with my beak. That didn’t work. Tap it again. And again. Why am I hitting this with my face? Why don’t I use my hands, wings, feathers thing. I flap my wings and smack them about the door. I don’t open it, but the force of my wings beating about did knock over most of the living room furniture and pictures off the wall. That’s no help. Well hitting it with my face…err..beak put a dent in the door. It is only wood and it didn’t really hurt that much. Not as much as the refrigerator did. I give it a couple more pecks and make a nice little hole in the door. Enough for me to ram with my head and scratch with my feet, um talon thingies. Anyway I made a hole. Not just any hole, but a hole that allows me to fly away from this nest. House. It allowed me to make egress from this house. There was no flying. I’m a civilized man and I live in a house made of timber and plaster and other building materials.

I look down the street, and there’s nothing. Well there’s houses, and cars parked alongside the road. But there’s no people. Mr. Spence isn’t in front of his store on the corner selling fruit like always every morning. The wretched Mrs. Roberts isn’t screaming at her children next door. There’s no traffic moving on our street, or on either street at the end of the block. In fact, the traffic lights aren’t even on.

Is it a holiday? Is everyone inside? Was there some sort of catastrophe that forced the evacuation of the city and turned me into a giant purple bird? There couldn’t have been an evacuation. I was a normal human last night, said goodnight to my children, read them a bedtime story, and dashed down to the corner store for some milk and eggs for the morning before having a wonderful slumber. I don’t remember hearing anything on the news last night about a natural phenomenon possibly happening. The weatherman said clear skies and warm temps or some such rubbish. The headline story was about the city council proposing to do work on some bridge somewhere and arguing about where they were going to get the money. Some inane ‘human interest’ piece about some lady who has spent her life taking pictures of the shoes of diplomats, presidents, kings and other such frivolities.

Where could everyone be? I decided to stroll down to the corner and see what I could see. I should be discreet, not every day there’s a giant purple bird walking down the street. I carefully hopped down the steps, amused at the joy it gave me. It reminded me of being younger and feeding birds in the park with my grandfather how they would hop from bread crumb to bread crumb he would toss out. I stepped onto the sidewalk and carefully into the street. There were truly no cars coming down the street, or at the cross section. In fact I could see all the way down my street in both directions for at least a mile! I have the vision of a bird. I can see other birds, regular size not human size, and insects buzzing around. How fascinating! I’d always heard that a hawk could see its prey from a mile away but to experience it is astounding.

I can see all manner of things that I couldn’t before. I can see the sun slowly gliding across the sky. I can see spectrums of light that the human eye can’t see. I can see birds darting back and forth chasing each other in the sky up past the tallest buildings. I can see a fly on the window of Orange Pizza, five blocks away! I can detect its every movement, every flap of its wings, every twitch of its feelers, every little buzzing sound it makes. This is going to come in handy as a great majestic bird. Hunting down prey from a mile away. Chasing down smaller birds as they zoom in and out of the forest canopy.

I take a little hop and skip towards the intersection. Next thing I know there’s a rush of wind and I’m in the intersection! How did I get here so fast? Did I just fly? I FLEW! I FLEW! I can’t believe it. My heart is pounding, my chest is heaving. My head is darting back to where I was just a second ago and back to my current location. I…I…I can’t believe it. I just flew like man has wished to do for years. I went skydiving on my honeymoon but that was just controlled falling. This was flying. I wonder how far I can fly. Can I fly like a stately eagle, or just flap around like a chicken? Maybe not at all like a penguin. I can hop and fly short distances so I know I can at least fly like a chicken. I am unsure if I would be able to gain enough lift sitting on the ground. Do I need a running start? Can I just lift off where I am? Do I need to get on a higher perch before jumping off and spreading my wings and flying? What if I can’t really fly like the avian wonder that I am? What if it’s more of a controlled descent, like a fat chicken coming down from the roost?

No time. No time for any of that nonsense right now. Where is everyone at? Why am I a giant purple bird? Why am I purple in the first place? It is a rather nice purple, iridescent, reflecting the sun’s rays and making me look all shiny. I look down the cross street. Still nothing. I don’t even hear any cars running, no traffic sounds, no sounds of the train, just nature. Nature is the only thing left. The birds in the trees, the insects buzzing around, dogs laying out in the sun, cats looking bored as always. Just domesticated animals and wild animals enjoying the people free city.

I walk down the street, fluttering at times trying out this “flight” thing. It’s an amazing thing. I can fly a whole block but not get much higher than maybe the third story on a building. Still, an amazing thing. I can glide for a little bit before smashing into the ground. I’ll have to be more careful with that landing bit. It’s a little tricky so far. If I get injured it’s not like I can just walk into a hospital and get patched up. Well maybe a veterinarian office, but that’s assuming there are still people. I’ve gone quite the distance from my house. The sun lazily gliding across the sky is telling me that it’s around midday. I should eat something. In all this excitement about being a giant purple bird, losing your loved ones, losing what could be the entire human race, I’ve forgotten to eat.

What fortune for me then that I find myself outside Amy Liu’s Italian Bistro. She could have just said Amy’s Italian Bistro, but she thought it was funny that a Chinese immigrant would have an Italian restaurant. I remember her in high school she always had a witty sense about her. We went to the Halloween dance together our sophomore year. She dressed as a teapot, and I was a cup. The innuendo was priceless. Very, well sophomoric humor. We kissed that night. Well as best we could considering our costumes. It wasn’t our first kiss, either as a couple or separate. But it was something special. Her lips were soft and tender. The warmth of her face against mine, the cold tingle of her glasses on my cheek. Our hands embraced each other and I could feel that she had sweaty palms, but so did I. It lasted for a good thirty seconds I believe. I’m not sure time seemed to stop at that moment. There was no vulgar thrusting of our tongues in each other’s oral cavities, no groping up blouses like an animal. Sweet innocent kissing. That’s all gone now. How can I kiss someone with a beak? I couldn’t even kiss her today, we’re both married. Well, I suppose I’m still married even though my wife is nowhere to be found and I am a giant bird.

They had the best breadsticks here I remember. I know Amy told me that they always left some sitting out in the fridge so they could heat them up real quick and everyone would think they were fresh baked. If only I could get in. The door was glass, and unlike my door at home if I smashed it with my beak, would shatter everywhere and I might get cut. Which could lead to an infection and then what? No antibiotics for me the giant bird. But how to get in? Well there’s the back door. I hopped around to the back but to my dismay that door is solid metal. Curiouser and curiouser. Back to the front then. Well I guess I will have to smash the glass. I’d rather not do it with my head.

In the alley I saw a metal trash can. Yes, I could use that to smash the big window in the front and hop in there. But, that’s vandalism, destruction of property, public nuisance. On the other hand I’m a six foot tall purple bird. Technically not a crime for me to do that just being a bird is all. They’d have the dog catcher after me I’m sure! That would be the sight, chasing me with a giant bird net all over the city. SQUAWK! Oh my! Was that me? Did I just squawk? I thought I chuckled out loud but as a bird I guess it’s more of a bird type sound instead of a laugh. What about whistling? Do I know any bird songs? Let’s try this and see. I tilt my head back take a breath and tweet. I tweeted and whistled a most interesting melody. I twitch my head around and see if any other birds make that sound. Maybe there’s someone like me who makes these sounds and can respond. I know birds often make calls to each other, about danger, looking for a mate, chattering, what have you. Nothing.

Oh well, back to smashing windows. I hop into the alley and knock over a trash can. I clasp it in one talon and hop/fly back to the window. Now to give it sufficient thrust so as to break the window. How to do so without injuring myself and removing most of the window in the process. Well nothing beats just throwing it at it. I stand in the street and flap my wings to give myself some lift from the ground and swiftly move forward towards the window and hurl the trash can at the window. It hits with a loud crack. A crack! I made a crack! Well that’s not smashed per se but it is progress, and on my first attempt at that. I pick up the trash can and give it another good heave at the window, a bigger crack. A few more attempts and the window shatters real good. Just a few shards around the edges, but a few pecks with my beak and they pop right out.

I hop into the restaurant and walk across the tables towards the kitchen. There’s no lights on in here and it doesn’t smell like they’ve been cooking lately. Everything is clean, except by the window of course, they must have cleaned up last night closed and went home. I wonder if there’s still breadsticks in the fridge though. The kitchen has double swinging doors, just right for a bird/man of my size to walk through. The kitchen fridge had a regular industrial latch on it. It was easy to open. Just put it between my beaks and popped it open. There they were a big tub of breadsticks ready for the eating. I am a bird after all, bread is one of our food groups I believe. Along with insects as well, I’m not ready for that adventure just yet. I knocked the tub off of the shelf and dragged it into the kitchen and began my feast.

After devouring the breadsticks I noticed a peculiar stench. It was odd, couldn’t place it until I looked behind me. A big pile of bird crap that I just laid out. I didn’t even know that I had to go. I didn’t even feel the need or that it came out. Well, I have a cloaca now. I guess since I’m a bird now that’s how it’s going to be. It is most disheartening that I now have no control over my bodily functions and can unleash my bowels without my consent or knowledge. Of course this would be very interesting to find those fellows who have offended me in the past and perch in a tree above their car. This could be handy, but still most unwholesome.

I walked solemnly out of the restaurant, belly full of bread, head full of shame and confusion. When I stepped outside I noticed that the sun had gone down even more. I didn’t think I had been in there that long, but being a bird time is rather irrelevant I suppose. It was well into the summer evening and I knew that I should find a place to roost, sleep I should sleep. Why do I keep referring to my former human things as bird things? I must maintain my sanity and civility should I hope to overcome this malady that has stricken me. Use your words, that expansive vocabulary that you built up playing the morning crossword puzzle, all those word a day calendars. Surely your mind won’t leave you. You can squawk and whistle like a bird, you can hop and somewhat fly like a bird, but you won’t be bird brained! Take pride in your deep and solemn education. You are a very well educated man, went to one of the top colleges in your state, and completed the master’s program at a prestigious Ivy League school. You can’t let your current circumstances overpower your years of education and civility. You mustn’t. What if you wake up tomorrow in your regular body but with the same bird brain and instincts? Well, the missus would definitely think it’s odd that you ask for a bowl of worms instead of oatmeal in the morning! Although the kids would find it quite funny.

I must get home and lay down and rest my weary wings and head. Wait, I am home. I am standing in my bedroom. How did I get here? I remember walking out of the restaurant, looking at the sun, thinking, and just started walking. Is this instinct? Did I just naturally, well migrate, back home? Maybe I’m a homing pigeon. Wouldn’t that be a hoot? Maybe I’m an owl? I still think I’m a magpie because I can recognize my own reflection. Maybe, I’m all the birds?

This bed, it just won’t do. It is not of an appropriate material as to that which I can slumber gracefully. Well, that’s a pretty good sentence, not so bird brained after all! Now to construct a nest, NO, NO NO, not a nest, a bed. A chamber of slumber with which I may rest my weary body after a long day’s work. Yes, that’s it, word a day calendar don’t fail me now.

I looked at the closet, the clothes, those will be plenty soft and provide nice padding. I reach in with my beak and grab a bunch and toss them onto the bed. I keep grabbing and tossing until I have emptied the closet of mine and my wife’s clothing. That’s not enough. The children’s closet. Yes, yes I’m such a clever bird. I rush to the closets and frantically pull out all the clothing and rush it back up to the nest. BED! BED! BED! It’s a bed not a nest. Why am I piling all the clothes on the bed, in a bowl shape? More, I need more to make an appropriate bed. The bath linens, towels, washcloths, bed sheets, yes all of them for my bed.

I stand before my new creation, chest thumping and heaving with that strenuous work finally over. I feel my heart breaking. It’s a nest. A little bowl of overlapped blue jeans, pink dresses from my daughter, super hero shirts from my sun, those lovely sun dresses my wife used to wear. It’s a nest. All bound and wound up around satin bed sheets and beach towels. It’s a nest. A stupid nest for a stupid bird. I step into it, mortified. It, it feels right. Like this is how I’m supposed to sleep. With my feet tucked underneath me, my body resting on the edge, with my bill tucked down and laying on my chest. Maybe, Maybe I really am a bird and I’m having an existential crisis. But then again how many birds know what existential means.