When I say I hate birds, I really, really, really meant it.
Their stupid feather shedding, their habits and little hopping, and their excruciating noises–
Sure, I had no problem with them when they stayed far away. Once they got anywhere near me, I wanted to punt them like a football. I wanted to step on them and smear them across the sidewalk. I wanted to rent a bow, take lessons, and buy a truck full of arrows so I could pick them out of the sky.
So, I ask the universe, why has a crow decided to stare me down? I was on a bench, having a peaceful Saturday morning, perusing my phone so see if any of my friends were up.
Then, this mangy, shit stain crow decided to land directly in front of me. It hopped in time with anybody else who decided to take the crosswalk. It didn’t flinch an inch when the cars ran by, or even when a bus exhaled in its direction.
Every time it bounced around a pair of legs, it physical hurt. My eyebrow would twitch in time with his bunny escapades. And, the entire time, it’s ebony maw just stared me down. It was fixated on me.
I leaned to the left to test its sight. The crow’s head turned to follow my eyes. So I took a picture of it with my phone. A photo that turned out to be blank.
I laughed out loud. Some people shot in my direction like a dog finding a squirrel. And the crow released an alarming caw–
I had to cover my ears just to drown out the rattling call. It’s wings flapped like a madman and kicked up dust and dirt into my eyes. I clenched them tight, rubbed at them furiously as I threw a fumbling kick at the tiny beast.
I stomped and stomped as hard and as fast as I could at his presumed spot. I didn’t care about hitting someone else. I just wanted that damn bird to shut up and die.
That was my only, singular, overwhelming, driving thought. Kill that crow!
I finally fished the debris from my eyes. When I forced them open, the crow was still there.
I watched it curiously.
It jumped in place several times. Turned around, and hopscotched it’s way out of the street, away from the crosswalk, and back to the sidewalk.
And since I forgot to unplug my ears, I didn’t hear the people try to warn me or the truck barreling towards me.
The crow reached the sidewalk while the grille contacted my head.
The crow morphed into a shadowy figure, a sickly robe draped lazily over his bony figure., a skull for a face. A scythe in hand. He huffed as if disappointed by the fact I didn’t follow him.
As my brains skid across the intersection, I decided at the last possible second that I still hated birds. Even if one tried to warn me.
What can I say, I’m stubborn roadkill.