The rain began: that horizontal rain that filled all your pockets and wormed its way down your neck. Riley argued that it wasn't a sign either. It wasn't Galway unless the rain was whipping down—even when the sun came out. As he crossed over the little rivulet that passed under the road, a single magpie laughed at him from its perch on a reed and he remembered it was one for sorrow, two for joy, and looked in vain for a second. "Shoo," he muttered, waving an ineffectual hand. The pie flicked its tail feathers, hopped to the other bank and continued to make remarks about the weather—or his fate.
You can buy "Mandrake and Magpies" in the anthology Dark Pages: International Noir along with a bunch of my fine colleagues at Trestle Press. Drop by the 6 Sentence Sunday blog to sample other writers.