CROW
matthew purdy
A worm ate your eyes and a crow ate that worm, and that crow came to my front yard and started croaking. He’s old and fat and arrogant, just like you were in my worst dreams of our old age. But he was dark, as dark as your hair when you died. All morning he kept at it, this rusty whinge. Even the other crows seemed annoyed with him. When I went out to my car he wouldn’t leave his stakeout near the garden gnome. He even flapped his wings at me, as though I was in fact his problem. When I came back, hours later, he was still there, though at the other end of the yard. He didn’t make any noise, but still I tried to chase him away with a broom. I eventually got him onto the sidewalk and hoped he’d take the hint. He didn’t. About an hour later he started crowing again and kept it up the rest of the night. In the morning my lover told me she’d barely slept.
Matthew Purdy
matthewjpurdy@hotmail.com
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The rusty whinge... I know that sound, excellent description.
This is a great piece, with a classic ending.
i liked this.
'Even the other crows seemed annoyed with him.'
Yup. I hope you expand this into a short story or a novella or something. Preferably a novella. It would be interested if something ate the crow, then whatever ate the crow got eaten. And you kept expanding on it, going into a mass level of extinction or something. Allowing us a glimpse of what the universe is as through your eyes.
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