I saw a murder at the grocery store a few months back. A few weeks after it, I saw another. It has made me think about how it would make such an interesting scene for a dystopian book.
Pregnancy cravings aside, Jim wished he didn’t have to go to the SuperMart right now. He pulled his Jetta into an available parking space and got out. His eyes took in the blackness of the sky and he found himself hunching in automatic reaction to the crows. They were spinning through the air, filling it with darkness. He couldn’t count them, but he guessed over a thousand strong were in this murder. Their loud voices were rending the air and the noise pierced his ears like a knife. Images of Alfred Hitchcock’s Birds filled his brain. Panic lent urgency to his feet and he ran to the doors of the store, but his feet must have been too swift for the sensor. He smashed into the automatic door and slid to the ground. After the impact, the door slid open jerkily. Gathering his scattered keys and wallet, Jim dashed inside.
“Peggy better be grateful for her pickles,” he thought.