I'm Kinda miffed about this particular style of uploading, since it will cause spoilers for anyone reading it in reverse, but I can't upload it all at once because it's an ongoing narrative. Perhaps I'll consolidate these into a single post when I finish. Also, as a disclaimer, because I realize that some may perceive this to be so, this story has no relation to anyone in real life. any similarities are purely coincidental. It's a fictional story, and not a particularly good one, designed to entertain, not to detail my plans for the destruction of a small town and it's political infrastructure. I tend to assume these things go without saying until it's too late and someone get's angry at me.
This crow was by all accounts a normal crow, excepting it’s relatively regal bearing, and a single blue feather on its left side. The crow had remained all morning, having settled some time during the night. It hopped around and did crow-like things, though it never wandered more than the nearest tree.
The stranger walked through suburbia. Being a weekday at midday, most folks were out and about, oblivious to the events of the previous day. Few people noticed the stranger, much less his odd habit of approaching houses and making strange gestures on the doors. A few people later noticed by the glint of their porch lights that a shimmering trail like that of a slug marking out the letter C on the doors. It was anyone’s guess as to what it meant, and those who noticed it simply dismissed it.
The stranger did only one more thing before leaving town. Like hundreds of past visitors, he visited a local market and purchased some fresh produce. Arugula, it was, at 8.99 a pound. He left otherwise unnoticed. One Jack Barrowton Swore to his wife that a guy at the market had been making a pass at him. He Stayed up all night that evening, worrying about his sexual orientation.
A few days passed, and after a tense town hall meeting with record attendance, the general consensus was to remove the body of farmer Joe for a proper Christian burial and not to speak of this occurrence to anyone outside of town. The blue crow had moved the previous night under inconspicuous circumstances. Volunteers were drafted for the job, and three local “good old boys” were chosen to perform the removal.
As they approached the lifeless body, a single caw was heard from an unseen crow. When they placed hands on the bloody mass, a second caw was heard. Like a gunshot, A third and final caw was heard as they placed the remains of the mayor into the tarp lined bed of a pickup truck.
The mortician’s autopsy was inconclusive.
“He’s just dead,” Said the mortician’s assistant in an interview for the McClintock Christian Weekly, “It’s not like he had a family history of exploding.”
The funeral service was quiet and poorly attended, only immediate family members were present, along with a smattering of offerings from local supporters (who cited myriad reasons for their nonattendance). A few days later, the first citizen fell ill.
I'm quite literate? You're simply too kind! And yes, they are my real feelings, and yes it is simple poetry, and yes the two are mutually inclusive.ReplyDelete