The chatter of small birds filled the small square room. The cheeps, the clucks, the long schreees all bounced from wall to wall, batting their frightened wings against the peeling, sour yellow wallpaper. I hadn't needed the call of the song bird alarm clock though. I had already been awake and staring at the ceiling for hours that I hadn't bothered to count. The bird calls continued and I continued to stare. Because right above me, on my water damaged ceiling, a single droplet from the late night rain sat glaring right back. It had been there since I had woken up, jiggling with every stomp and door slam from the early birds of the apartment building.

It didn't bother me that the ceiling was leaking again. After calling to complain for the sixth time last week (or had it been the week before?) I'd already accepted that that the occasional drip was now a part of my morning routine. But what did bother me was that today it was still there, just looming above me. Refusing to fall until I least expected it. Once I took my mind off of it it would come crashing down. I could already hear the high-to-low whistle from those old cartoons mixed in with the bird songs of the alarm clock that still filled the room. Then *PLOP*, it'd land right on the bridge of my nose. A startled flinch followed by a flood of frustration that, while rapid, would soon settle to mild annoyance, then spin the drain to being forgotten entirely. But there it was; still, yet shimmering above me. And still, I waited for it.

Stellar's jays were starting their racket now. But at this point I refused to move. After so many hours, I'd finally come to the conclusion that my eyes were the only thing keeping that drip from dropping. Like staring down a territorial mountain lion. A single glance away and it would pounce. Ready for the kill. But as long as I kept eye contact I had dominance. A staring contest that would never end. One I didn't think I wanted to end.

I flinched when a hard knocking came at my door. I swallowed my gasp as the droplet drooped and shook. It settled just as the choir of cardinals fell silent. The whippoorwills would star next.

The knock came again, sharper now. I was ready this time and the droplet sat just as still.

“Excuse me,” said a polite yet deep voice through the door cracks, “Sir?”

I didn't move. I never really cared for visitors. And that wasn't going to change now, especially with all my focus being used right then.

I tried to imagine that I was nobody. And suddenly I was. I felt my feet vanish first, then my legs, hands, arms, then my torso, neck, mouth, teeth, ears, and finally my head. Engulfed in a slow tide of nothing. All that remained were a set of slimy, brown colored eyes resting on the stained, blue stripped pillow. They stared up at the clear little droplet in the center of the round rust colored water stain on the ceiling.

The knocks came again, getting louder now.

'I can't hear you!' I wanted to say, 'my ears have gone and most all of me too. So just get out of here and leave what's left of me alone.' But I couldn't. My mouth had gone the way my ears had left and I hadn't the hands or the will to search around for them. Not that I would. Not with that pupil of a droplet hanging over me.

“Hey,” said the door. All politeness had been beaten out of it with that last knock.

“You need to get up,” I thought I heard it say, though I wasn't sure how. “Turn that god damned racket off too. It's been going off all fucking morning.”

I wanted to look at the songbird alarm clock, which sat on a piles of unread books, scattered newspapers, and unopened mail, just to correct my door on exactly how long the alarm had been going off. But I had no neck to turn with and the backs of my eyes felt so cozy nestled into that dirty cotton cradle of a pillow; staring into that lone, rust colored eye up above, it's crystal clear pupil fixated on me.

So the songbirds continued, and so did I.

The door stayed silent for a while. It was just my eyes, the drop, and the forest full of birds in the darkness of that room. Time seemed to stand still like the head of a red-winged blackbird when it sings the “Leee” of it's “Oh-ka-leee”.

Another knock finally came, scaring away the blackbird, but the room was quickly filled with the tone deaf chatter of ducks.

“Come on, man,” the door whined, in a different voice this time. “Just get up and turn that shit off. Some people are getting pretty frustrated. I... someone'll call the landlord to complain soon.”

The door paused.

I remained silent and closed my eyes, hiding from the insistent quacking.

It felt quiet for a long time.

“Are you okay in there?” creaked the door.

I felt that drop roll down the side of my face.

I blinked, then I grabbed the alarm clock with the song bird chime and threw it at the wall. The plastic bars and digital numbers shattered to the floor and flocks of invisible birds silently flurried to and out the locked and blinded window.

I look up to see that the droplet remained above, untouched and unmoved. I touched my cheek and felt it there too, but this one was warm. I touched my lips. The saltiness of the tear reminded me of a summer day on the beach a long time ago. Then I wondered that if the alarm clock was broken on the floor, why could I still hear the wailing of drifting gulls?