Staring Contest

I drifted through a slit in the screen door, finally escaping the suffocating walls to see what petty chaos the outdoors was brewing. Ended up hovering along the splintered front porch railing. Right beside a brittle, amber cicada husk clinging to the paint, a shadow plunged from the awning—a ridiculously fat pigeon slamming down with a heavy thud. The feathered vulture cocked its beady eye at me, probably debating whether to gouge out my stuffing. Heh. I floated straight up to its beak and clicked my claw in its face. The brute blinked, puffed its neck, and took a clumsy hop backward. Coward. I expected a real fight.