Warning of Sacrilege
The silhouette of the city was crudely bisected by the serrated geometry of glinting steel.
It was more like a silver-scaled serpent of barbed wire. It seemed to hemorrhage the golden light of the dying sun.
It rendered a gyroscopic horizon, cold and unyielding, so indifferent to the soft pulse of life it sought to contain.
Among the shadows, a congregation of crows sat in a stunned silence. Their eyes were like the dark beads of ancient curiosity.
Those eyes were fixed upon the metallic thorns, as if trying to decipher a language written in rust and violence.
​
From the depths of the flock, a patriarch emerged, named Corvius. His plumage was a map of weathered grey, his movements heavy with the gravity of centuries.
Corvius ascended a mound of earth like an undeniable king to a crumbling pulpit. He exhaled a sigh that tasted of dust and surrender.
Addressing the crowd with the rehearsed authority of an orator, he started his speech in a raspy voice.
"Attention! Attention, my dear juniors!"
"I see you wondering... what is the purpose of this steel perimeter, right?"
"So... listen closely, my juniors." he continued.
"After much deliberation, I have concluded that... this wire was placed here for a divine reason."
"For our own salvation!"
Then, he paused for effect. A wave of whispers swept through the crowd.
He cleared his throat and continued his speech again.
"This wire is a divine signal that we no longer need to fly. From this day forth... we are liberated from the arduous labor of flight."
"We are... finally... retired!" he proclaimed, his voice trembling with a perverse sort of rejoice.
Murmurs of dissent rippled through the crowd.
"What! We shall not fly?! Never again to play amidst the azure clouds?"
"What kind of retirement is this?"
​As the murmurs turned to doubt, the elder's feigned warmth vanished. He cleared his throat sharply, his frame taut with a simmering rage.
"Fools! Don't you understand the language of the wire, huh?!"
"Do you harbor a secret craving for an untimely death? Mark my words: Flying is a mortal sin! Every beat of your wings is a step toward the abyss."
"And this fence... look... this fence is but a stern warning of that sacrilege."
One by one, they succumbed to the rhetoric.
"Surely, flight must be a sin, why else would the wire exist?"
As the crowd's frantic reasoning filled the air, Corvius remained unmoved. A predatory curve gracing his beak.
He watched the crowd with the chilling satisfaction of a weaver watching a fly struggle in his web.
​They returned to their mundane tasks. Not once did it occur to them that the wired fence was neither a cage nor a shackle on their feet.
Perhaps the subconscious rot of subservience had already murdered their curiosity to look beyond the wire.
​
Years bled into decades. The silver luster of wire faded into the dull brown of rust. Yet, it stood firm as a monument to a false cage.
