Imagine you are on a train or at a train station when a murder takes place. Expand upon this scenario by writing a story of 500 words or fewer.
Our halt lasted longer than usual. I peer from the corner of my Jane Austen novel, disassociating gradually from the Georgian era, back into the mundane, fast-paced day that I escaped from. The older man sitting across from me is now donning a face more disgruntled than the last time I made eye contact with him, and it does not take me long to piece together what was happening.
Unmonitored cattle from the neighbouring farmlands occasionally delayed trains on this route. Cows are harder to move than you would imagine, and the train master’s impatience stripped him of any animal rearing skills. Pouting my lips, I turn back to the window, sticking my face to its poorly cleaned glass to engage with the view outside. Almost immediately, my eyes land on a tree nearby; the only calm living thing in this moment of chaotic disappointment. I did not pay much attention during botany class, but I could approximate that this was an oak tree. The paper-thin green leaves swayed with the breeze, paced as though they would brush softly against your skin.
Seated atop a branch, nestled in twigs, dry leaves, and debris, were noticeably newborn sparrow chicks. Their delicate yellow beaks camouflaged into the scorching sun, and their contrasting high-pitched squeals tore through the window to pierce my ear drums. Their mother was nowhere to be seen, I’d imagine she was out finding sustenance or wrinkly leaves to fill up the scanty nest. Just as I was completing the string of investigative notions tracing mother birdy, a higher, sharper squeal punctured my thought bubble and drew my attention back to the tree.
Hovering over the once cosy nest was a ferocious, large vulture, flapping its wings aggressively as it successfully attempted to intimidate the palm-sized chicks. I watched in wonder as existential dread seeped into my body. One by one, the vulture clenched the chicks in its sturdy, grey beak, ready to devour or perhaps kill them far away from the tree. My eyes well up thinking about mother sparrow, who would return to the nest soon, oblivious to the whereabouts and condition of her children. Entranced in the unfortunate state of life, I look back at my disgruntled neighbour, who continues to scowl about the train delay. To be human and ungrateful.