Speech of the Crows

His ears couldn't hear and his face couldn't feel. There was little understanding in his mind as the wind broke across his eyes. He didn't blink, he didn't sway. He kept on going, he was free, and nothing could stop him. And off somewhere in the distance, something waited for him. A special something made of gold.

There was waiting in the world. All there was now was waiting while people died. Those same people that sliced his tongue in two. He felt like a serpent, felt like a dragon. Maybe he was some mythical creature lost in this world of rarity. As he went around the world things fell silent about him.

And he began to know, to realize, things that he hadn't before. Some sort of understanding was forcing it's self upon him. All he could do now was think and move. If he stopped he couldn't think. And now more than anything he wanted to think.

Visions of coldness, wet, pressure, and desperation rose into the air. Again he didn't blink. If he blinked reality may escape him, he couldn't have that. Things seemed duller, as if the world were darker at night, maybe it was. Nonetheless, he kept moving.

He didn't question himself and what he felt. But deep inside him something grew, something burned. This something did not hurt, it did not make him shed impossible tears. It did make him wonder though. What was it? He hadn't even known those feelings or places had existed before, but now he kept in the wind.

The gold was drawing closer he could feel it now. Startling confused memories came to him when he thought back about shiny things. He lusted for the little pieces that glinted in the sun. He had had quite a collection before the wind pulled at him and he began to think. The collection was gone; he no longer knew where he was.

It was colder out and the quite seemed almost overwhelming. He did not understand this either. It nagged at him. It pulled at him and all his fluids. Hunger is what stopped him and he settled down. Thinking left him and he began to fear. How could he eat if he couldn't think? He went to the wind again. Another feeling buried it's self in him. His feet seemed useless since they would not provide for him.

Desperation? What was this? What is a word? What is what? If it was possible to cry he was. Now even though he did not understand it desperation settled on him. He could not go any longer, the feelings were too much and his body would not let him.

So he let his thinking go and lay down. His dragon's tongue did nothing for him. He knew what could be done with it but didn't know how. And the entire world was silent, quiet. There was no one, nothing to help or hurt him. He was fine, he was done, and his time was here. And so he let go and howled as well as he could. And it broke through the darkness that consumed the world.

Bushnell- Feb 13 04.