You were in my dream, last night.
We visited a magician who wanted to rise from the dead. You took a bird, one of those new bright four legged parakeets. As part of the ritual, you punctured it's back, quickly with a pen, and handed it to me. "Throw it in the trash", you said.
It wasn't moving, but the hole in it's side wasn't bleeding either. It was just a hollowed out spot.
The trash was full and I thought I should write the date on the birds skin--for documentation. It's skin made for an easy drawing surface, and right next to the hole, I scrawled "2004/". The bird started to shiver. It's not dead. I kept writing, "2004/10/". What day is it? I couldn't focus with all of the shaking in my hands. I could feel the bird panic. Is it the 13th, 14th?. God, if only it would calm down.. After I settled on writing the date as the 13th of October, the bird tried to run out of my hand. It's front legs were very able and it grasped my fingers, inching forward.
When I grabbed it at the head, I realized that it was bleeding and hadn't very long left to live. It's eyes looked like a cats and held enough familiarity to make me very sad. It was crying, but the tears were mine. I awoke before it died."