The Seagull-Raven Affair

Out the front door, she sees a billowing flash from the edge of her peripheal vision. Is it white? A rippling sailing. Startling. Gust. A seagull, it swoops, arcs, and lassoes swiftly forward and above, squawking. Squawking to her. Persistent. Loops back up, down, and then around her head, circumscribing a vanilla-ish neon halo. She walks faster. Coincidence nudged aside in favor of some sort of omen, meaning, or sacrament. She hits the car fob. From nowhere, a raven intercepts the seagull's flight, just above the car. Harlequin contrasts of black and white. Checkerboard. The raven has a few words of its own to shout. A flock arrives, as if on call. She gets in the car. It doesn't start. She tries again. It turns over. She can't get out of there fast enough.