Their scratchy caw rings out, with promises dark and ominous.
Obsidian-hued feathery forms blot out the sky. The air is still. The whisper of an omen.
You comfort yourself with the knowledge that a single crow does not a murder make.
I don’t consider myself the traditional superstitious type.
That doesn’t mean that I’m not open to the possibilities of ghosts and magic and psychic emanations, of the creeping unknown horrors or the shimmering wonder of higher spirits. It’s just that I’ve never seen them.
I’ve seen and felt evil, or something akin to it. An airborne residue of dark thoughts, compounded by ignorance and neglect, festered and amplified. But that was man-made (at least mostly). It stuck to the skin, filled the nose, crawled along every surface. It’s not an experience I would like to have again. I went right home and showered. A lot.
I’m more of an optimistic skeptic, I think. I want these spirits and wonders and yes, maybe even the creepiness to be real. But there’s something in my mental circuitry that refuses to accept anyone else’s assurances. These phenomena exist in a limbo between belief and disbelief until I’m able to verify them for myself.
Except, of course, the spirits that exist, buzzing around inside my own head. The omens.
Or maybe this is more of an anti-omen. Some people swear by visualizing their success. I’m fairly certain that, if I can imagine a situation or an unfolding of an event, it will never happen. This has been proven many, many times during my life. Any action, reaction, conversation or scene that plays in my mind is fated to a very limited engagement at the drive-in theater inside my skull.
I also believe that if I ignore my bank account it will fill faster. Take that however you want.
Its a good thing that I don’t believe that crows foreshadow death. Because I see them every day. And that’s too much death to deal with.
…On the other hand, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if ravens and crows were harbingers of unsettled spirits visiting our world. And mocking us poor living souls with their raucous caws and cries. I imagine we must look fairly ridiculous to those who have moved past the physical world.
⊛ Words of Carrion Comfort swoops back into the shop today.
⊛ Actually, I’m pretty happy with my writing when this piece was first introduced (this is a wonderful and rare occurrence). Hop on over and give it a read.