Red Dawn of Warning

A warm Sunday morning in December on the fringe of the tenants of freedom. The sky was ablaze with the colors that God had painted there. Small birds of prey fly in flocks, the coral disc ornates their wings. They enmass to block out the light. The birds have their quarry within sight. They bear down on their objective, destroying everything in their path. Many die instantly, violently, more suffer to their deaths trapped far below. Slowly, they recede to the locker floor only to rise later, awash in the surf.