Peter's Crow

It is here, on the streets of Petersburg where the shadowy thoughts emerged. The rain beckoning pain and I expressing sorrow with each step. A filth that pelted my soul with every drop of painted muck. It felt like spring, or maybe more like fall? The nature of this place left me in wonder, a wandering amusement.

I am a barrel carrier, drum loader, drifter in the rain. It felt like many miles with this barrel, this burden resting on my shoulders. Why do I continue to carry this rusted oil drum? Where did this come from? Where am I going? These questions fluttered like echoes against the wind, meaningless as I am burdened by a task towards a destination unknown. However, my course remained true - every step I take, the weight upon my shoulders felt lighter.

The thundering sound of the heavens was unquestionable, as if it intended to punish me by raining a palate of brown and black. And I bound by the wind that was against me, suddenly greeted by stragglers and passersby with glassy eyed stares. Their hollow eyes not clouded in mystery no, but one of fear and for what I do not know. Until my eyes met the stranger of my own reflection appearing before me in a stained-glass window. I had a gauntly stature crushed by years of pain, an emanating darkness, a leather jacket to contain me and long unkempt hair covering my eyes. I could barely recognize the figure glaring back at me.

I continued walking on a paved road until concrete became cobblestone and cobblestone became pockets of sand and mud. Before I knew it, I stopped as if without will without conscious realization and I was met with a quarry and a ditch. Here, this quarry beside a red brick wall and a ditch with an appalling amount of oil drums below a thickening sludge of bubbling pus. The thunder stopped shortly after I arrived, the silence was deafening. With all my might I threw that rusty barrel - a throw relinquishing the burden, my burden that now rested below this putrid mess. The resulting splash, a smell of a damp foul stench filling my nostrils.

Suddenly, the sound of wings buffeted the air behind my ears and like a winged spirit a grey-bodied crow fledgling appeared before my eyes and flew past me clinging on the bricks of the wall like a feathered bat. It stared at me with astonishing eyes, white and blue corneas amid a black feathered head. I raised my arm, and the crow cocked its head in my direction as if it were curious and it leapt from the wall towards me. Although its talons were clenching my arm, I felt nothing but an undeniable softness, as if it were hands of a child. I retracted my arm in shock to this unexpected sensation, when the fledgling flew away it would close its eyes and open its beak almost like it was laughing like a child. I believe the crow wanted to play so again I would subject my arm to its feet before it would fly away once more clinging onto the wall.

It began to caw a silent caw, one that could not be heard, and its beak was like a smile I have never seen and one that should not have existed. Before I could even comprehend the oddity of this encounter, like a cloud of smoke and ash the crow dissipated. Speechless, I gazed upon every red brick on the wall, the crow invading my thoughts. I had no control to the words I said next as if I were possessed by an invisible beast. I began to blurt a phrase, words that slipped from the bottom of my throat,

"When you grow, I will meet you again."

Then I woke up.