i sat on the bench, eyes closed, head facing up into the warmth of the sun

a red dot on my forehead


moving slightly up and down with the slow rhythmic breathing of the sniper a block away

not that i could see it

i was in dreamland, contemplating lunch or what book to read next

the finger on the trigger clenched

breath held

the sway of the dot stopped and it was steady on the center of my forehead

a lady bug landed on my ankle and startled me into movement

i bent down to brush it off and felt the hot wind as the projectile passed just over my skull

it hit a tree behind me with a crack that made me turn to look



the hairs on the back of my neck i am usually careful to shave standing up

the lady bug dancing on my fingers as i sat back

i was enthralled with it

what did it think as my fingers moved slightly and changed it’s course

probably nothing

sleep eat fuck

the only reactions driving it

a large black bird landed near me and the beetle was forgotten

flew off to do one of those driving forces

the bird looked at me and i looked back

i nodded my head to it and it hopped back and forth a little

a crow has the same level of consciousness as a seven year old

they can figure out water displacement and use basic tools

they hold grudges and pass it on to their offspring

they investigate dead crows and change routes accordingly to avoid where a comrade has fallen

so i hoped to make a good impression on this one

as i watched it hop more and more excitedly i saw the red dot on my chest

i moved to wipe it away but it was on my hand

at first mistaking it for my friend the ladybug

worrying the crow was after a snack

it wasn’t


i dove and my action caused the crow to take off

i hit the ground as an arrow hit the crow with a wet pop and sudden rain of feathers

it had a shellshocked look on it’s avian face and awkwardly flew away

a dusting of tiny sable quills marking the wobbly path

my phone buzzed

“you can’t keep dodging me”

“you hit that poor crow”

“that one is on you pal”

i put my phone back in my pocket

he was still watching me


i guessed which way the light came from and flipped him off

this game of ours was growing more and more serious by the day

he may be a cherubic little god with impeccable aim

but i have desperation and luck on my side

and he shot a crow

so i call this one a win for me

and I know how much he hates the offensive stereotype

that he is a fat little baby with a golden lock of hair

implying he is more bumblebee in shape than angel

with those little wings that shouldn’t be able to support his chubby little frame

i’ve never actually seen him

just spent the last year and some change dodging darts, the callous little bastard ignores my pleas to be left alone

it’s a fool’s game

where he, acting as an agent of spite, seeks to poison my head with his concoction of chemical imbalances in the brain

with artfully launched implements of mass devotion

desperate and cruel acts of cupidity


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