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Page one, Home.
Deep into a winter morning, Miro Sorrell was found wandering the town, barely dressed for this weather—you’d think he almost enjoyed how the cold winds struck his face, prickling into his skin and leaving him reddened. It’s not like he had much to do—he never does quite have much to attend to, a simple fellow. Scrawny and quiet, like a skittish deer. Shoes scuffing against the ground—where was I going? He pondered silently, ah. Home. Spotting his run-down apartment in the near distance, knowing his mother and older sister are already likely waiting—ready to fuss over his cold-flushed face within minutes of stepping in.
It’s only when an exceptionally cold breeze hits his body, he realizes he has stilled, and his ears begin to sting. It’s then he begins walking again, picking up the pace—seemingly eager to step into the warmth of his home, nevermind the building's underlying issues. Upon reaching the front door, he’s met with a soft chirping noise from above.
Behold, a white dove sitting atop the electrical wires.
What strange things they are, symbolic and pure… Yet sitting upon such dangerous man built creations. One wrong move, and—zap. Dead. He can’t help but think, as he unlocks the door, stepping in with a content sigh—no longer paying attention to the otherly mundane bird.