I pretend to reach for them, but before he can guess my intentions, I catch one of his wings instead. He flutters, trying to break loose, his one free wing batting my hand. I draw out the decanter and stuff him into it, careful to fold his wings. I don’t want to hurt him. Furthermore, I just want to better him. Once he’s settled inside, I shove a paper towel into the bottle’s neck. No need to worry that he’ll smother. After all, he spent that night in a bug trap last year and SUR

Unhinged