...Then The Crows Came 


The crows fell out of the sky, ignoring our angry arms and curses. They found us, like an undercover cop behind on his quota, angry and determined to pull us aside and violently interrogate us about our pedestrian choice in food products. "If we don't like what we hear," they cawed in unison, "we're going to have to take you downtown."
 
They jumped on and around the picnic table. A tribe of forgotten pygmies performing an ancient dance meant to awaken the gods for a virgin sacrifice. Loud and furious, they staked out territories and shored up borders. The Bread tribe eyed the Hotdog tribe closely, noting the weaknesses in their defense. Soon a scout was sent hopping over, but was pushed back by the meat-loving horde. 
 
Stabbing at their prey, they ripped apart the thin plastic skins, exposing the soft insides. Bread crumbs bled onto the grass. Salty hotdog juice seeped into the earth. The tribes screamed and flapped. Feathers soaked and covered with food. The largest of the crows lifted a wing to the sky, then slowly dipped it down into a pool of ketchup and painted a fine line across its face. A bright red streak glowed off the polished black of its beak; a sign of dominance. 
 
The war-painted leader ordered his troops into the air. The picnic table was empty. We sat on the wet grass, hands bound, mouths gagged, stomachs empty. 

Posted: Wed - April 26, 2006 at 04:55 PM           |