Sherri sighed with relief. "Throw it out the window, it may still work," Indigo said. She flicked a switch and a nearby window opened. Sherri poked out a hesitant hand weighted by the metal. She threw it out on the street and it fell with a clatter of metal. Sherri jolted her hand back in, barely missing the retreating window pane.
Sherri then rubbed her wrist on her left hand. The edge of metal caught on it, and she could see dark red droplets on the pale, freckled skin. "Ow," she muttered. But it didn't really hurt like she expected. She wasn't thinking about that, but of what happened over a century ago, but all too soon. People died. Millions. They're just going to add a few more zeros to that number this time.
The Holocaust. That's a horrible, cruel name, Sherri shuddered, remembering the stories she'd heard, all of them true.
So cruel, to eliminate an entire race. Or at least try. Have we got nothing to show? I don't think so. We can succeed. Grim determination was set on her jaw. No complaining. No worrying. This was a fight for her life. She wasn't going down without a fight.
She would survive.
"Eh, that doesn't have such a nice ring to it," Indigo replied.
(Once I saw a Cochin bantam at Ohio International drinking coffee out of a cup someone accidentally left by her cage.)