‘We await your response by sparrow?’ I murmured, reading the letter again. Something about destiny, the fate of many, and ‘answering the call’ …
I turned it over and looked at the wax seal, now broken; it looked like a penny had been pressed into the wax.
The letter weighed on my mind, however. When I left for work the next morning, I stopped by the gently chittering hedge on the street.
A little brown head poked through the leaves, followed by four more.
They stared at me with their button-black eyes, then launched into the air in a cheeping flock.
When I returned home, there was a woman in a sensible black coat and brimmed hat waiting on my doorstep. She tucked her leather folder under her arm to shake my hand.
‘Ah! The Chosen One. Pleased to meet you, now on with the matter at hand …’
Her grip was firm. ‘Sorry but … who chose me?’
‘You did. When you answered.’
It was hard to say fairer than that.
Image by Susanne Jutzeler, suju-foto from Pixabay.