The Crow
The pre-dawn air was crisp, a welcome shock to my lungs as I began my jog. A lone crow circled high overhead, its caws the only sound breaking the quiet. Papers danced around the overflowing bin at the corner, a familiar sight on these solitary morning runs through my sleepy suburban neighborhood. Everything felt normal, that is, until today.
A few blocks in, my feet came to a halt, my breath catching in my throat. In a clearing between houses, I saw a scene straight out of a nightmare. There was the girl, the new neighbor who made my heart skip a beat whenever we crossed paths. But now, fear contorted her beautiful features. Her hands were shaking, a small revolver clutched in them. A few meters away, my uncle, the man who always greeted me with a gruff pat on the back, was on his knees, blood blooming on his white shirt from two gunshot wounds.
"No, please!" my uncle pleaded, his voice rough. The girl, tears streaming down her face, screamed back something about photos, secrets, and revenge. Photos were scattered around her feet like a macabre puzzle, along with a worn leather-bound document.
Uncle always had rumors swirling around him, whispers of a dark past. But to see him like this, to see the girl I was drawn to holding the gun... My mind reeled. I called out to her, my voice thick with a mixture of fear and confusion.
She spun around, her terrified eyes meeting mine. Slowly, I managed to calm her and reason with her. Piece by agonizing piece, she revealed her story. It was the crow. The one circling above us. That same crow, she claimed, had been a relentless visitor at her window for months, dropping photos—images of her murdered family, documents that tied my uncle to the crime. The gun in her hand—the final piece delivered by the same avian messenger. Moving here was also part of her twisted sense of justice.
The gunshot that followed shattered the silence. The final bullet from the revolver. The girl crumpled, overcome with grief. The sirens wailed in the distance, a mournful cry.
Months bled into one another, the weight of that morning clinging to me like a shroud. The girl had vanished, leaving a gaping hole in my world. The once-familiar neighborhood felt alien. One evening, a familiar shadow crossed my window. My heart hammered against my ribs as I saw the crow, a glint of white in its beak. It dropped a photograph.
My hands trembled as I picked it up. The face in the picture—a stranger, someone I'd never seen around here. The crow cocked its head, as if studying my reaction, before flying away into the sunset. In that single moment, I knew this wasn't over. The crow had delivered a new piece to the puzzle, and I was determined to see it through.
