What do you want?

In August I went to Omega with Sherry, Cam and Ali.  We had registered for a writing workshop.  Not caring for the teacher or her teaching methods, we switched to a different workshop for the remainder of the week.  We did an exercise on the day that we were in the writing workshop, however, that I did enjoy.  It involved writing the beginning of a story using the words, "What do you want ...".

My story beginning was as follows:

What do you want?" I ask  the large bird perched on the mantle of the house in Pachuta.  Silence.  Near the bird the clock ticks.  I hear the train - the Southern Pacific - slowing, whistle blowing, as it moves on through town, on to Meridian and into Alabama.  Mamie Gordon's photo stares down from the mantle;  hair, thin like mine, pulled back into a bun.  Her expression is sober, as all expressions seemed to be in portraits of her day.  Perhaps it was necessary to present a certain seriousness for antiquity.

I glance at the bird.  It sits, silent and still. I ask again, not expecting an answer, "What do you want?"  It stares with glassy dark eyes - an expression rather like of of Mamie.  It shifts its feet just a bit - a movement so small that I'm not certain that it wasn't imagined.  I hear a voice, "Tell my story."