"...all the little birdies on jaybird street, love to hear the robin go tweet, tweet, tweet! Rockin' Robin! Tweet, tweet! Rockin' - Oh! You're awake. How lovely!" the voice of Lyta's host came burbling over a speaker as she came to.
The 'room' she was in consisted of overly ornate and gold wrought bars layered with carvings of birds and leaves and flowers. Between each bar, which were actually spaced quite generously to allow for escape otherwise, was a pane of bullet proof glass. Above her head circled a half dozen red hawks, each screeching out calls of warning. Beyond the cage a circle of bleachers filled with faceless steel automotons looked in on her.
"Welcome to your fifteen minutes of fame, my little canary," the male voice, so incredibly chipper and bright, continued. "Your fans have been promised a show and so you must give it to them. It is time to sing, my little one. Sing your heart out and bring a smile to the faces around you. If you feel like being coy, you should consider the alternative."
A thin line of sand from a small opening in the very top of her prison began pouring down.
"The less you warble, the faster it pours."
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
