text: The man with the seagull head visited me the other night. Nothing unusual, per se. Just your average nightcap. He stopped by to congratulate me on my marriage and my 401k. He said these words with confidence, like he knew them well. Perhaps he did, but I sure didn't know what they meant, and neither should he. After all, we were born of the same mirror. Him from me, and me from him. Fractured at birth into separate lives. He brandished a toothpick from the corner of his beak and expected me to betray myself by way of my soul. I did no such thing. I kissed his feathers with a comb and wished him well before turning him back the way he came. The night was fairly young and the horizons called his names louder than they called his isn’ts. He deserved to feast after the day he’d had. Or, rather, the days he hadn’t. “Goodbye”, I said, looking past his gleaming eyes and into the mind that thought only of french fries and stolen bread. It wiggled under the guise of thought and gave way after exerting too much effort. He grinned as far as his beak would allow, ruffling his feathers with renewed strength and pouncing into the hillsides past the pink cottage I called my home. He disappeared in a puff of smoke and squawked into the darkness. He smelled something worthwhile on the horizon. I laughed and tried to enjoy the space that existed between us as I went to bed in my brand new nightgown. My wife smiled as she breathed little sentences into my ear. I picked up only fragments. “Goodnight.” “I love you.” That’s what I pieced together in the throes of my brain as my husk smiled back and repeated her words like an audible shadow --inflections and joy alike. I closed my eyes and pictured soaring above the landscape below the man with the seagull head. Putrid smells spread before me, carried further by the inky black spirals of coal that strung behind me. A landfill. Our favourite. I detached from his mirror. His favourite, I corrected. He grinned, landing on the piles of trash. He was its king. Subjects gathered ‘round. Seagulls and mice. Rats and lice. All sheep. I muttered under the heaviness of my eyelids. Every last one of them. They danced and sang under his influence as the moon glistened off the piles of scrap metal and mouldy tomatoes. Our acidic kingdom. My kingdom. My beak glistened as the moonlight penetrated my bedroom window. Beside me, my wife snored in a comfortable slumber, her arm draped over my chest and her face buried in my shoulder. I coughed up a single feather and smiled at her sleeping silhouette. Another time, I breathed. Another life. The portal disappeared for a time. It won’t be the last. But for now, I’ll feed on the joys of this short burst. Internally, I congratulate myself on my marriage and my 401k. Words that I may not understand, but hope to someday.