The crow talks to me. It sits on the road sign, with its black eyes, its black beak, and its black feathers, and it speaks to me. I don’t understand the words — they’re in bird, of course. But the words come, all the same. They take up space inside my mind, relentlessly pursuing my overwhelmed psyche.
The crow has four eyes. I don’t know if I mentioned that. Four eyes and three legs. What does a bird even do with three legs, anyway? I think it must be some kind of mutant, but it assures me it is nothing of the kind. I don’t know how I know that. I still can’t understand the words, but somehow I know that. Maybe it’s a messenger, like Hermes, come from the gods to deliver a message.
Only I can’t understand the words. They’re still in bird, and I don’t speak bird.
It’s still speaking to me, looking at me, staring me down. I get the sense that the crow wants to do me harm, but it can’t because that’s not the reason it’s here. Again, I don’t know how I know this. It’s just a vibe. And I don’t like it.
Soon it stops speaking to me, which is a relief. All those bird words were giving me a headache. But still the crow remains, as if waiting for a response. But I don’t know what response to give. I don’t know what the message was. I couldn’t understand the fucking words!
I did the only thing I could. I dipped my head in acknowledgement of the crow. It cawed once then, and flew off, leaving a couple feathers behind as it did. I don’t know what I just agreed to, if that’s the response I sent. I guess I’ll find out.
