Drowning

"In a Fair World"

Chapter I: In a fair world.

   Whipping wind, a tug at the feathers that can make anything feel so free. Birds know this feeling well. But for this bird, for this bird it was not enough. For this bird with a sadistic streak, something had to die. Something had to die, before it did. Circling the city like another vulture might a carcass, this vulture was also looking for what it called food, and what you'd call a person. To find conventional traits about this vulture would be a daunting task. Sure it has wings, and yes it was bald, and you might be able to get away with any physical trait, but otherwise. Vultures do not speak, vultures do not think beyond instinct, and vultures do not live in cities. They don't seek people out, they don't converse with these people, and it's simply preposterous to think it would suggest suicide to the people who it chooses to speak to. This Vulture does all those things.
  Circling, circling, in the dark rainy sky, looking for someone... No one in particular, but someone nonetheless. As it circled it observed the spectacles humans create. A man gunned down in an alley, a brick crashing through a window, a druggie wandering about so high he didn't notice the car he'd just passed being stolen, cops beating down a homeless man. The vulture liked these kinds of humans, not as food, but as entertainment. So violent, there was never too dull an episode of 'Humans'. The vulture cackled at its own joke. After watching a woman attempt arson, (with no luck getting the lighter to work) it flew up, and up, only to shift into an impressive dive bomb towards the direction of shouting. Had it been screaming the vulture would ignore it thinking it to be a rape or murder, but shouting was often more interesting. Shouting implied that there would be drama included, a nice appetiser to have before the main course (consisting of bloodshed).
  The vulture glided towards a humming telephone wire, the birds previously loitering atop the wire needed not to take a glance to feel the dark presence of the vulture. The vulture landed and took a moment to listen, "Look Molliss, I can't afford risks like this. I really wish it were different, you're good with the rent, but I can't have drugs moving through my building". This was the loud rant of a porkish man who shouted in a rather proper manner, to a scrawny man named Molliss Beckamert. "Mr. Gognas please, you know I'm not like that. Where the hell did you even get such a notion?". "You'd love to know wouldn't you Molliss? Well that is too bad, just know he's reliable" Mr. Gognas said loudly, "I want you're stuff out by tomorrow". Mr. Gognas walked calmly to the bottom of the stairs, opened the umbrella that had been hanging off of his lower left arm and out into the rain. The vulture dropped once more swooping to the bottom of the stairs the angry landlord had just descended. There it looked up to spot a slender young man, head in hands, as though his head was a liquid he was trying desperately to hold. He lifted his head, and looked straight at the vulture, but this didn't concern it one bit. The scene looked as though he was seeing a most unusual bird, but Molliss saw nothing of the sort. The vulture was not ever seen until it wanted to be seen, and now was not the time. Molliss only saw cascading water, tinkling down the slanted roof which made a pat, pat, patting noise. He stared forever at the waterfall thinking and planning, until his face contorted into a look of sheer pain, painting a picture of his innermost feelings. He had the look of someone who wanted to scream and cry to the world, letting it know it was unfair. Yet Molliss remained silent, his fury and sorrow drowned out by the majestic streams of water. The vulture saw it all and clicked it's beak in approval. The vulture was hungry again, and it knew exactly what it wanted.
  Molliss stood up to reenter the building through the door located atop the stairs, leaving behind the wet 'plinks' and 'plonks' that were torturing his ears with their incessant bombardment. The vulture followed him up with one mightful gust of its wings, and walked in while the door was still closing. Molliss rummaged in his pocket to produce the key that matched his apartments lock, (not that it really mattered in this city, the vulture thought to itself.) Molliss pulled the door open, and shut it too quickly for this swiftest of vultures to get in. This alone is not even close to enough to detour such an intelligent beast, the vulture first tried the door handle, but evidently Molliss had exactly the same amount of faith in the city because the door was locked up tight. However the vulture had grown resourceful in its lifetime, and made haste for the exit. Pushing the main door atop the stairs and flying out, making a sweeping circle to find Molliss on the balcony, cigarette in hand, the vulture once more dropped, and landed on the railing facing Molliss. The balcony door was still open, and the vulture let itself in. It shook itself dry just inched away from the door that was already welcoming raindrops and their accompanying splashes, as to be sure it was not detected nor even suspected until exact moment it wanted to be. The vulture looked at Molliss from inside, his mid lengthed hair taking on some amount of water, a smokey cloud surrounding his face, his now waterlogged clothes hanging from him with their obvious new weight. Molliss finished his cigarette, and threw it, knowing well that the unapologetic, unbiased, perpetual, torrential downpour of rain would wash out any idea of a fire. He returned to the cold dryness of the indoors, and then suddenly stopped, a thought had occurred to Molliss, he was now suddenly in a very alert state. A nervous individual taps into their stock of adrenaline that their ancestors passed on through good ol' fashion Darwinism, and Molliss, with a speed rivaling the vulture, moved to the window where his blinds were shut. He stuck a finger in and pulled down enough to see the neglected and abused street outside. A cab sped by, then a bus, then a blue car, a black truck, an orange car, a green van, their headlights casting shadows with speed surpassing the vulture. The vulture itself thought Molliss was settling into a nice useable phase of paranoia, but Molliss's fears were far from unfounded, outside between the gaps of speeding vehicles Molliss had spotted exactly what he was looking for. A black car accompanied by a muscular man in a tank top and dark cargo pants umbrella over his head staring at Molliss's window, likely at Molliss's eye through the blinds. There was no doubt, that man was the rent collector, and a large factor to Molliss's habit of never missing rental payments, every so often choosing rent over utilities or food.
  "Jeez, and Gognas is concerned about the legitimacy of my money." Molliss said aloud but only at a volume barely above whisper. This prompted the vulture to part it's inquiring gaze from Molliss and fix it to it's own surroundings. Molliss backed away from the window and began to strip his wet clothes off as he walked towards the bathroom. The door shut slowly and a 'click' broke the silence. Shortly after water could be heard, this time the sound more steady and mechanical than the more natural sounds of rain. The vulture started to take an interest in it's surroundings. Finding shortly that Molliss could not possibly be receiving illegal income. Illegal income often times pays better than whatever Molliss makes, assuming it could be laundered. The living room was rather bare showcasing only a cushion and a laptop. The vulture ventured towards a room that could only be the bedroom, as Molliss was occupating the bathroom, and the kitchen was in plain view from the main room. The kitchen's counters were vacant save for a coffeemaker and a bottle of soap, though there must be things in the cupboard, this was only the vulture's assumption. The vulture entered the bedroom to discover Molliss's humble sleeping quarters, consisting of a sheet, comforter, and pillow.

Reading through,
It seems to me this is sufficient for Chapter one.