black sheep

A black sheep fell into a drugged slumber and dreamt of a bird. It fluttered into a room that was no more; its colours flashing feverishly whenever they caught the sun. It alighted upon the sheep’s extended limb and poured its secrets into a black ear. Were they questions? Were they answers? The sheep did not know. But it listened because no bird had ever shown any interest in it before.

The bird pecked gently at a tuft of wool with its velvet beak before taking flight. It flew out an open window, past flowering creepers that bloomed at dusk. It soared into the clouds; the tuft of wool in its mouth streaming behind like a dark vapour trail. The sheep watched until the sky was consumed by the blackness of its fleece. And, turning away, it caught the first whiff of an evening flower as it burst into bloom.