Dogsoldiers

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He sank into the chair with a sigh, closed his eyes for a few seconds. Even with the window the room was dim, almost cave-like, and pleasantly cool. It wouldn’t take much at all for him to drop off to sleep right there in the chair.

With a little shake of his head he roused himself and bent down to massage his aching calves which were already tightening up. Like he needed another reminder he wasn’t eighteen anymore. Or even twenty-eight. Youth is wasted on the young.

Through the window all he could see was an expanse of the neighboring roof, almost close enough to touch. Angling up to the left, covered in curling brown shingles long overdue to be replaced. The roof lit up suddenly as the setting sun ducked underneath one of the few clouds in the sky. The long shadow of something, perhaps an old TV antenna, ran across the slope out of sight.

A brilliant red flash made him jerk. The cardinal perched on the edge of the roof, atop an especially bad shingle curled up in fine imitation of a potato chip. The small bird was so radiantly, unnaturally red it looked like a prop, a fake, a special effect. It twittered, looked left, right, up, down, then peered past the peeling white window frame into the gloom where he sat motionless.

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