First there was one crow, and he was beautiful. Then came the other crows.

The ocean was still. That’s how you knew that somewhere else in the world, all was in disarray.

Jameson walked across campus every morning passing the old dying willow. He’d strip the limbs and weave them into a crown fit for a sinner. He’d learned the skill as a kid from his mother, before she passed. A seagull landed on a branch close to the willows rotting trunk. His mother’s favorite bird was a seagull. Jameson used to see them all the time when he was walking with his mother on a trail not far from their home. She’d say,

“Some say they’re thieves, but I think they just do what they are willing to do to survive. Whatever happens Jamie, you survive okay?”

Jameson would always say yes.

Until his mother had not survived stage four lung cancer.

Nowadays he didn’t see many seagulls. Mostly crows.

But he thought they were okay. They seemed to speak his misery for him. He liked that. Broken harmony.

Today he walked passed the willow looking up at the bird. He stopped to watch it. It studied him back. And then, a crow landed next to the seagull. Black feathers sleek and shining. Jameson smiled. His mom and his misery making peace.

Another crow dismounted on another branch.

Jameson watched in wonder as hundreds of crows started to fill the boughs of the old decomposing tree.

A moment of quiet settled over the murder.

And then they pounced.

They ripped the seagull to shreds. Tearing at feathers drawing blood.

Jameson stared in horror at the scene. And there, emerging from the seagulls remains,

a crow.

Beading its black bottomless eyes at Jameson

as the rest of the murder focused on him.

All was quiet.