writing .Crows

[Flailing Dinosaurs 238]

It's like a dance, you decide. Yes. A dance. A beautiful ballet. A tango. One partner forever to be the mouse, the other, the cat. The land is your stage, the wind and birdsong your music. The grass and trees are your props, and your own skin, the most creative costume to be created. That was redundant. It doesn't matter though. Redundancy is good. It's a constant, right? A constant, a constant, all you want is for things to be constant. Changing, it's always changing, why does it keep changing? You wish the wind would stop blowing the leaves out of your skull. They're the only thing that keep your brain warm.

 

What's that? A mouse. No. A deer. A deer? There are no deer here. Ha! That rhymed! Brilliant. And away you go, stalking. Like a most fearsome hunter. What are you? You don't even know. Ever since the crows started to make nests in your head, you can't seem to recall your species. You know you're small though. Maybe you're a mouse? A cat? You don't know. Oh! The crows! The crows!

 

 

You circle the deer. Is it a deer? It shouldn't be a deer. There aren't deer in this place. This you know. Leaves fly- perhaps they are the ones from your head? They seem to be falling out a lot of late- as you spring at the creature. A swift paw knocks you away, and stones tumble out of your ears. Paws. It has paws. What is is? What is it?! THE CROWS, THE CROWS ARE COMING FOR ME, OH, THE CROWS!

 

 

You're pinned. Claws rip into your body. The face of your killer comes into view. A cat. Hah. A cat. Ahahahah. AHAHAHAH. You twitch. Crickets are crawling out of your guts. Curious.

 

 

Caw. Caw. Oh. The crows have come for you, already? You suppose it's alright. All of the stones have trickled from your head at last. It's clear now. You can think again. The wind whistles through the hole in your skull, and, for once, you're glad for it.

 

 

It's here to take you home. To spirit you back. Back to where? You don't know. It's not one of the constants.

 

 

It's part of the unscripted play.

 

 

The dance.

 

-O-

 

I shouldn't write stuff like this. It drains me too much emotionally.