Sometimes when you see a bunch of big birds messing around in the yard, you can't look away. You see the huge beaks that could split your eye in a second. Those monstrous feathers. Those wings that could break into your open window so easily and so ruthlessly. And just where would you hide?
After which you start thinking of a story, something quirky and quite dystopian. You start imagining those small brains growing bigger and swelling with reckless anger, with unspeakable horror. After all, there’s nothing keeping them from taking down every one of those two-legged bastards.
It’s only then you think of Daphne du Maurier and realise it’s been done already. Written, filmed, beaten to death. Face it, your 21st century imagination is fatally flawed.