A Murder Of Crows

In a row, the four of us were already feeling bored on a glorious saffron morning, the best day of the week: Saturday. We had no patience for school. Walking down the dusty alley behind our neighbourhood, we hung out, telling jokes, sneaking glances at saucy magazines one of us had liberated from our big brothers, or brainstorming with Peeps about how to cause mischief in our town without getting caught.

“God, I’m bored already, and it’s barely the weekend. If this is what getting old means, then count me out. I never want to be bored,” Pecker grumbled, tossing dust rocks at trash cans.

Peeps lay sprawled on the grass across from the trash cans. I sat there, racking my brain, trying to figure out how not to waste this perfect day with my friends. Ste dribbled a half-crushed Coca-Cola can with his feet.

I spoke up. “Peeps, what’s on your mind, buddy?” With his hands behind his head, he stared up at the circling birds.

“Did you know when birds hatch from their eggs, they imprint on the first bird or creature they see?”

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, leaping up from the trash can. “I’ve always wanted a pet, but my mom is allergic to cats and dogs, and money’s kind of tight. But she always said I could have a bird.”

With his arms gesturing to all of us, Pecker declared, “Well then, let’s go get Mazie a pet bird!” with a comic superhero eyebrow raise.

We all arrived at the Gershwin Tree, the largest tree in the state. My dad used to tell me the story of the Gershwin Tree before bed. Legend had it that the tree only housed crows, which helped deliver souls to the other side once they had passed. Hundreds of crows flocked around the area where we stood; the tree was a shrine for them all. It fed and sheltered them. The only sounds were their caws and the flapping of wings. More than a dozen birds kept watchful eyes on us from the ground as they foraged for worms.

“You want it, Maize? Go fetch,” Pecker commanded, pointing.

Was it a bad time to admit that this was a bad idea?

“Yeah, Maize, good luck teaching a stupid bird anything, buddy. Why not get a grass snake? There are probably hundreds in this field to feed this murder,” Ste’ quipped with a smirk.

One or two birds were fine to be around, but as I climbed up a prison full of these murders, my thoughts began to race. One, two steps, and I was standing in the shadow of the godlike conifer tree. The calls of the birds echoed deep within my soul, and a wild fear seized my breath. I reached my hands up and grabbed hold of a furry terracotta branch, hoisting myself upwards. Every level of the colossal tree expelled no fewer than five birds from their homes as this unwary invader ascended.

“Hurry up, you wuss!” shouted Pecker, egging me onward and upward. “Just pick one already!”

Deep within the overlapping branches sat a nest. Sunlight filtered in, revealing a secret bird chirping away happily to itself. I crept closer, clinging on for dear life.

“Hey there, little guy,” I greeted, blocking the rays of light. The bird stood shocked, facing away from me, its left eye glued to my every move. I hesitated for a second before unwittingly taking what was not mine. My hands closed around the bird’s body as it squirmed and jerked its head.

“Hey, he’s got one! Hurry, bring it down here!” Heckles spurred me on.

I clambered down the maze of shedding bark and cobwebs with one hand. As I reached the last few meters, there was a three-meter drop blocking my freedom from this cell of bird droppings and screeches from beyond the grave.

“Just jump it, don’t be a wimp now, Maize. You’re so close,” Pecker ordered, his eyes leaving no room for argument. I took a few deep breaths before leaping into gravity, but just as I descended, a blur of inky feathers clouded my judgment and senses. I plummeted, flailing my arms in a frenzy of defence against my attacker from the sky.

“Maize, are you okay? Damn bird tried to peck out your eyes,” Ste said as he helped me to my feet, shaking off the rough landing. “Look,” Peeps said, crouching in the grass, his unblinking eyes fixed on his cupped hands.

“What is it, Peeps?” I asked, joining the group. We gathered around him, and from his hands, we saw a lifeless crow chick. My mind fragmented into a thousand pieces.

“What have I done?” I confessed. “It was an accident, Maize. Don’t worry about it; death happens,” Pecker reassured me, his arm slung over my shoulders. “Let’s split, guys.”

Peeps gently placed the chick back on the grass and shuffled away. I remained staring at the bird; I had committed a terrible deed. The flapping of wings continued to circle. An immense black crow landed on an empty branch, its weight nearly snapping the tree’s limb. The bird maintained eye contact with me, its fiery eyes burning through me. It began to screech, its caws almost bloodying my ears. The clouds thickened, and the sun’s glow vanished. A storm was coming. I backed away slowly, still in shock. The Backyard Boys had walked ahead. I couldn’t escape the ringing of the bird’s cries. I ran.

I tossed and turned in bed, my mind burdened with guilt, unable to find peace. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping the discomfort would keep them closed until daylight. I was too warm under my covers and too cold outside of them. All I could think about was the chick dying because of my foolish actions.

A thud at my window jolted me upright, my eyes wide with fear. Clicks and taps at my window made me wonder whether to investigate or hide under my covers.

I sluggishly tiptoed from my bed to the window, the curtains hiding my view. Should I open them gradually or yank them aside? I opted for the latter. I quickly pushed the curtains aside. Sitting on my windowsill was the crow from earlier. My heart sank, and thoughts of revenge consumed me. I tried to scare it off by roaring and throwing plastic soldiers and socks at my window, but the bird stared back at me with its black eyes, peering into my soul.

Defeated, I gave up.

The bird hopped to the centre of the window and turned around. It began to caw into the night sky. I followed its gaze and saw the night darken. I squinted, trying to discern the source of the noise. The rumble soon became apparent; hundreds of crows were coming for me. I stood there, stunned; you couldn’t run from whatever the sky provided.

The clattering of talons echoed on my rooftop, and creaks emanated from the shabby ceiling and wood walls. All the crows must have been working together to dismantle the roof of my house. The top corner came away from my bedroom. I was exposed to the raining crows. The mother bird entered my bedroom through the gaping hole, perched on my chest-of-drawers next to my comics and figurines.

“I know why you’re here,” I cawed at the crow, and she responded.

An army of wings and black beaks swooped down and seized my pajamas. They lifted me up through the bird-made hole. They carried me through the clouds, over the rooftops of my friends’ homes. I could see the Gershwin Tree in the distance.

I had taken her chick from their home and killed it. They had kidnapped me to suffer the same fate. This was entirely my fault.