I figured it out. It wasn't me, it was him! The bird, the bird was there too. Maybe he was always there, every night I wanted to do something but was too weak. The night you died, I remember it clearly, he became a man, tall and lithe, slithering from room to room with arms tracing hypnotic patterns around him, stabbing the air. You called him forward. He moved up to you slowly. You were still screaming at him, pointing at something, but tonight you were small for some reason. You tried to grab him but he pushed you back, slowly, strangely, like his arms were moving through a deep pool of murky water, and you pulled out a knife, I remember, it was hard to see in the dark but i knew it was the knife you always kept with you because of the way you were holding it, like you had been waiting for this. But he had been watching us a long time... he knew. Then, quicker than I could take a breath, he pecked your head off, and you fell back into the coffee table without a word. But for some reason I can't picture him clearly anymore. Maybe because it was dark, or his body was... ink more than flesh. Sketched out of feather, still stalking more than aggressing. I can see your body slumped on the table, blood flung across where we used to put our frozen dinners when we'd watch family feud together. Back when I still loved you, and Gloria went out and had friends, and we thought we might have a dad who would last more than a year around us. But I guess. I guess the bird didn't see that stuff, I guess he was never really present. I never saw him blink. When he left, we walked with him to the door. Just like that, he became small again, and flew away.
Video 15.