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.
