The crow
Flash fiction
Right above me stood the naked and skinny branches of a plane tree, which looked like irreparable cracks in the sky into a black hole. Without any leafy shades, those sharp angled twists and turns must have been a perfect place for birds on the watch I thought and I was worried that a bird, a big one, say, a crow or a seagull would perch there and, you know, take a dump on me. I didn’t move in the slightest though, I kept sitting on the same bench by the sea, watching the rocking movements of yachts anchored loosely in front of me. Notorious for their mercilessness, the northern winds veiled in the blue waves, somehow, seemed to be benign enough to cradle the boats and soothe me. Imitate those ripples lapping against the tiny yachts at anchor, I said to myself, and let stray thoughts flash through your mind and go.
Soon after, I was joined by a seagull. It was there in front of me, an inch away. What a beast! Unlike me, the creature sought for no calm hooting tirelessly, even louder than the engine of the ferry being unmoored at the nearby pier. It was unusual for me to see a seagull that up-close. The thickness and the brightness of its white feathers gifted it the appearance of an armoured garment, unbreakable and heroic. One of the passers-by proved that I wasn’t the only one who took notice of the bold cry and chopped off a bite from a sandwich she was carrying in a bag. The creature instantly spread its wings wide open to catch its portion of serendipity, and flew away. Where could I find wings like these to take me out of here, these endless dead-end arguments, this marri-cage? The reply perched without delay. It was a crow screaming blue murder. Eat it, I said to myself, and I fixed my watery eyes on the cracks. It was there, infinite dark, up in the sky above me.