Through the window, Kinsey’s eyes scour for something, anything, that is not the cloud of death on its way.
There’s a… bird. Kinsey clears soot from her eyes. But it’s really there, outside her window…perched in a tree on fire.
Its baby chirps for the dangling worm it holds, but the bird’s eyes are on Kinsey.
Why? It asks with its eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Kinsey repeats between sobs, her final words an apology for all humankind.
The bird lowers the last worm into its baby’s mouth as the garden is engulfed in darkness.
