The Crow

 

I am evil. Nobody knows it! Well, until now.

Everyone thinks I am a good guy, and I work at it, so far so good.

Just last week I was in the park, looking for a new place to dispose of a possible dead human body, I was doing pretty well. I was blending in with the other folks who are spending too much time in the park. I know.

There was a white pickup truck, flashed his lights one time, then another white vehicle, a van, parked on a street nearby. The van was parked in just such a way that he could look down right onto us. Big tinted windows. I moved the car, this time to the far parking lot. 

Then along comes the white pickup truck, just now parking, right there. No response to my wave. I thought, if I go home, there is going to be a white vehicle of some sort, parking where they can watch the house perfectly. I know the spot well. So I took the long way home, stopped off. Time went by. If they were watching this would have been very frustrating, almost there and then, take a break.

When I got home, sure enough, the van was already there. I got out of the car and walked right at them, heart pounding. Nobody was in the van. That could have been really silly. When I got home the next time, the white pickup truck came ambling in and parked right in front, like he followed me right in and just wouldn't you know he knew just where to park. I am not sure what I am going to do with another vehicle, I sure can't leave it nearby. Make that two. The bodies were no problem.

The last few I was able to sell to a guy I met a few years ago. Now he is gone. I think he went to the coast. I could probably find him there and try to move a few more cars. The coast is not so far away, as the crow flies.

I know all the cops, I went to school with most of them, or followed their children. There is that new guy, we have our ways. That is why it is so quiet around here, everyone gets along. I like it. No questions. Nobody remembers anything!

Life is all about finding resources and figuring out the best ways to make things happen. There are all kinds of resources, and all the time in the world. I work hard and it pays off. I move every twenty years so that nobody figures out I am not getting any older. I enjoy it, getting a new place picked out, finding the players, lining them up. Starting over. I love it.

Time goes by. We are having a fire on the lawn by the old porch tonight. We do it every chance we get, a nice big fire in the night. Folks come by, we talk. It is good here. Share some food, meet new people out for a walk at night. I know all the spots.

Then came that guy. I was feeling rather comfortable in my security, so I was casual, not watching every absolute. Then up comes the guy, was he watching me for long? I was thinking about a different move, and then comes the guy. There he is, making this difficult, and we all act like nothing is happening. Someone walking by would think, nothing here and move on. I had the pigeon lined up and was starting to put out the bait, something to lure the bird away from stray eyes. Then there is the guy. Who is that guy?

The "tells" make a different story compared to what is being said. You look at what the body is doing, is it nervous, tired, animated, or smooth, is it dead? Then there are the eyes, sometimes people can choose what they show through their eyes, but usually they do not even know what their face is saying despite the story they are giving. It is hilarious, the hard part is not laughing out loud in their face. I have to look away sometimes. 

Reading a body is what we do. We see what the story is, at worst, what took this life? What turns has this life taken? Are they lost or are they mistaken? It is easy to make a mistake, it happens all the time. Never show your mistake, go somewhere else and figure it out. 

Watch for a little while, are they waiting or are they researching? If they are drifting, fish on! So many are just drifting. I can take them in an instant, but where is the sport? They can play some kind of game for me, if they bolt, or if they linger, if they engage in something like a game or reading, or maybe if they watch me back. Sometimes they think they are hunting me, but I just step out of their path into the cage. Right this way, try not to trip on the threshold. 

You can see the moment they figure out the door has closed and the cage is upon them, now suddenly they are within and enclosed. The sharp ones keep the banter up, not a flinch. The oblivious do the same, but they are clueless. Once in a while one panics. Once upon a time that meant trouble, but these days, with the homeless camps, people permanently in the drift, screaming might mean something comical or dramatic in a playful way. They all die the same, the quickening stops, no more motion, the face goes flabby. They are going to keep that very shape if they are not positioned. It can be hard to move a rigor mortis that is long taken. We stop moving and that is it. Do the lights go off or do they turn on? Or elsewise?

The guy got back into the white truck and was gone before I could make any notes, I have a feeling the guy is here for good. Acceptance sets the path. 

My ancient curse follows me always, I accept where I am going. Right now I am going to try and change the topic, some things are best left unspoken. We have been identifying resources and making plans for taking proper custody of said resources. There is no other way. This is manifest destiny at its finest. Interruptions of the divine plan are not permitted.

The Crow is my oldest name, I use other names whenever I can. Each person you meet carries a unique new possibility, which is unknown. After you meet them that chance is over, and you are pretty much locked in. You are who they identified when they first met you. Imagining limitations makes for a dull day.

I came to this town a few years ago, so I have found my principal resources, but I still know very little about the history of the place. I always find a shared housing situation, the easiest alibi comes from familiars who share the residence, they can vouch for my presence, so the hours can all be accounted for, including the lost hours of darkness each night. I never eat my familiars until the last day. I start planning that hour from my first introduction to that familiar.

What happens to old people is a testament to the inner character of these beings. 

Each knows that the end of the ride is the longest and most fraught with pain and obvious doom. What we give to doom is what it already owns in us.

I was waiting for the two white vehicles, and they delivered. The guy was nowhere to be seen. I can only draw on my experiences and the paths criss-cross, so I approximate cautiously. Does it get easier? Each experience is full of risk, sometimes things go wrong.

Waiting is what I do best. What are we doing but just hanging around. I might be reading my book or scribbling, someone else might be in the kitchen, another is going to be back from their run soon. Everyone is looking at their phones now. So handy. The phone is a talisman that connects each to all, but one at a time. 

It is early now. I have tools to count. I have never been here before. I mean this exact room, this place with these people, and the ones that are about to arrive. I have been in this same type of scene and setting all my life, but this one is not like the others. That is the key to my survival, keeping alert. I have to account for everything, without getting caught watching and waiting. That is when it happens, I think I am alone and there is someone present.

I hear about people's stories, they just tell me things. I am trying to fit all this together, and to continue my craft. The notion of being a child, and making the transition from infant to adult requires experiencing a full range of human experiences. As an immortal, I know nothing of child growth, child rearing. From the stories I know how to manage most human experiences. Things happen anyway. Each person has a familiar community, they will notice changes or abrupt disappearances. Most people do wander outside of their familiar community, and that is when I have my time of opportunity for feeding. 

What if the guy is lying? It could be part of his artifice to bring me into his plan. Is ignorance bliss? I shall become unreliable and not be where I promised I would be. I should expect that the guy is lying, while I watch for the tells. I am such a romantic. This is what I want to have happen. I know nothing.

Interruptions save lives. The crow is a scientific rascal. They tell me that crows are seen as a sign of bad things to come, but others say crows are considered to be messengers from the gods. Corvus might be a symbol of transformation. My life and songs. 

I eat brains. The rest of the corpse remains, so I have been working on different ways of moving on. The remnants are fearsome. That is my art, making it all. As if nothing happened. Keeping the pool clean is my game. Just fade into the background and make things happen. I spend my time appearing to wait, it gets me far. I am home laughing. Not really, that is just an expression I like.

Struggling seems like a hard way to go. I prefer to find my own ways, I have no choice, really.

We all just want to go home one more time, just for a long moment. When I would try it, things always turned out differently. I would get home and things would look familiar but the time was all different, maybe now someone else owns the moon, and we are just here to visit. All the stuff is older now, same stuff, but it looks odd somehow. I spent a long time trying to go home, but never made it. I came close I think. 

Pretty close. 

I want to kill the bully boys. I want to free the maidens. I want to be the hero, but I am willing to give something else to obtain that feeling. What if I could live forever? I already know. It has been a long time, but I only remember the last things. I sometimes get a glimpse of the ancient times. I remember, I think. The light was different then. Never will the pieces all fit properly, I get the pleasure of grabbing the fragment and discovering what's come of it all. Mostly I riff on the little I remember, and the band plays on. I call my mistakes improvisation. I add my part. I was never a child, just a fully formed monster from the start. Do I remember that? This is part of my trick to get to you.

I have no excuses, I need none, I tire of remembering when I had lots of excuses. Now it is so late, the excuse is just another poem. I can forgive a poem. Framing the problem is how one changes excuses to reason. That is what is needed to learn faster. Honest questions, the one that matters. The others are color or spice or a framework for the center.

How do I learn best? Once I figured that one out, the rest all fell into place and away we went. That is always the best part, when a plan comes together. I am one lucky son of a gun. It always comes easily, or I leave early. This got me through the Roman Empire. Before that we were in China. I really do not remember much now, but that was a very inclusive and immersive epoch. We won! I do remember that part. We survived again. All those smashed temples, throwing the statues into the holy pond. Then the next group arrived and took over. We waited them out too, into the pond again. So many statues. Where did they go?

I am not making this up, I have a plan. The plan is to (I almost gave it away). That was a close one. What if?

What do I do with the dead bodies? I eat them. No more problem. Sometimes they struggle, I have to admire that, being dead and all, yet still fighting. Clearly I cannot eat them all at once, there is time involved. Some of my best cooking has been at night. If you live forever, you do not need to sleep. Oh you knew that one already. Why am I here?

To eat! So funny. Eating and music, all I have ever met passionately love it, love them both,  but nobody agrees about any of the details. Bring more carrion. Strike up the band. Turn on the new machine. Let's just see if it leads anywhere. 

Meanwhile. In the meantime while. Meaning while. Anywhere. Whentime. Everytime. No time. Where is the space? After the y in Anywhere and Every Time. 

Not always. Now it is when I say it is. Now open the window. Out there is the same day, the same place, the whole place. Same as under the rug. Perspective is the defining aspect. How long can a question?

You can see that "How long can a question?" is incomplete. Does the message get through? Since I am reading and you are writing, while the main character is just living. What is the author doing? Probably sitting in front of a keyboard. Fighting against sedentary rot. Just jump up and walk around the chair, take too much time. 

Go!

"How long can a question?" is gibberish, but the smaller parts do have meaning, long is hinting at quantifying duration, the question is unknown. The question is always unknown. How long can a question? Means, consider the duration, question the duration. That will cause different people to imagine different things. 

It is an error, it does not make sense. Move on. 

Have you jumped up yet? I have done it twice, now three times. Maybe ten or more, how long ago are you? I might be first, as before me this would not have happened. I might be looking the wrong way, and I am the last one to see what is going on, really. I just jumped up ten more times. 

In my work, being the evil one, my best plans are made in that magical area right after a nap. I have a job where I benefit from taking naps. Now you are here, in my nap. This is what it is like. 

The lawnmower sound masked my testing the windows and finding a door open, just walk in, looking slowly. The lawnmower guy is busy, we all know where he is. 

There are others, waiting for me. Listening. I test every door and window. They should pay me for finding defective situations. 

I made a tour of the rooms, I knew you were behind that door, probably distracted. 

People who listen to music or whatever make it so easy! We all know where the music is coming from, the other objects are almost predictable. 

Moving through the rooms casts shadows, people sometimes see shadows, it is good to watch for cameras and red lights in general. Most people are busy, or paradoxically, suddenly they are over-focused on trying to figure out my shadow or footstep. I keep close to the wall. I am ready to drop, I know the way out. I used to count the steps, but that was distracting. 

When you are caught the trick is to be lost and confused. Being old helps, so I always look very old. Best to find that line between possibility and vulnerability. Is it worth it? It always depends on how hungry you are. Hungry people make bad decisions. Hunters wait. 

Nobody watches all the time. I am always hungry. Distraction is the doorway that permits my art. Enables my art, is that the same thing? Allows my art. Being immortal does make it easy to forget details and make mistakes. They kill me and the next night, I leave my coffin. Doesn't that sound like fun? To get into such and such a situation such that you get killed, in different ways on different occasions, only to start all over again when the next night comes. I am just fooling with you, I do not use a coffin. Night and day are so close, you might forget where you are. 

The rules are sometimes posted, but the rest of the time being caught is about luck and skill together, something you learn. Like seeing in the dark, so easy sometimes. Not all the time. The rules that are posted might not be observed all the time, but when they need to be observed, the story comes out differently. That is another way of catching prey. 

Deliberate deception is only one of my tools. To get lucky, for me just being there is all it takes, having a story or words to help with the hunt might not help. They might make the situation worse, introducing too many surprises. No words, no lies to explain. People tend to pick up on anything but certainty, they never catch on when the message is given with certainty, saying "I belong here." Trying to invent a logic to explain the situation is the writer's work. I go another way. I have had more time.