The magpie bird was considered good luck, until it wasn’t. Two of them, Bobbo and Lobbo, their black feathers highlighted with white, discussed this.
“You know,” Lobbo said, “why shouldn’t we be considered good luck? We’re very smart. Everyone says so.”
“True,” Bobbo replied, “but what does intelligence have to do with good luck?”
Lobbo pecked at the meal the pair were scavenging, giving that some thought. “Good point. Humans once associated us with Bacchus, though.”
“Also true,” Bobbo answered after swallowing his own piece of the meal. “But…you’ve met Bacchus. Good time? Yes. Good luck? Eh, maybe not so much.”
Lobbo hummed around his own mouthful then said, “Well, we make fine messengers.”
Bobbo plucked the eye from the fallen soldier the pair feasted on. As he swallowed it, he observed the battlefield they stood at the edges of, thinking of the days of scavenging it would provide. “You know, I’m not sure why they ever considered us good luck. It really is the other way around.”
See the author’s published work here.
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Wonderful Matthew and thank you for remembering fallen soldiers