***
I walked home following a drizzle of rain. My roommate was talking obsessively and without pause, and I had given up feigning interest a long time ago. You know, to save my energy. He didn't seem to notice.
"What's going over there," he yelled, in a manner mocking any real concern. I followed the path leading out from his finger tip. There was a small grouping, a murder, of crows pecking incessantly and something. The something appeared to be losing a great deal of feathers in the process. We yelled and shook are arms as if to betray our age. The crows scatter, and in the center of the fervor lie a small dove. It was surprisingly living, and seemed to be shivering. Can a dove shiver? Its eyes, little black marbles, contrasted the nature of its existence, as in alive. We stared from a far.
"Should we do something." If the dove knew my words it would have found me cruel.
"No...,"turning to leave so I may avoid growing bitter, "crows have to eat to."
We left, and talked about the weather. We pretended the event wasn't significant.
***
"Is that you," she asked, peering out from the couch in response to the sound of the door.
"No."
"How was your day?"
"Good... good..." I rummaged through the pantries in search of some carbohydrates I could devour and develop a nice undeserved sleepiness with.
"You're home a little late," she had gotten up from the couch and was now smiling at me in the white frame of the kitchen door. She is either constantly posing, or just one of the most photogenic individuals I've ever met.
I walked home following a drizzle of rain. My roommate was talking obsessively and without pause, and I had given up feigning interest a long time ago. You know, to save my energy. He didn't seem to notice.
"What's going over there," he yelled, in a manner mocking any real concern. I followed the path leading out from his finger tip. There was a small grouping, a murder, of crows pecking incessantly and something. The something appeared to be losing a great deal of feathers in the process. We yelled and shook are arms as if to betray our age. The crows scatter, and in the center of the fervor lie a small dove. It was surprisingly living, and seemed to be shivering. Can a dove shiver? Its eyes, little black marbles, contrasted the nature of its existence, as in alive. We stared from a far.
"Should we do something." If the dove knew my words it would have found me cruel.
"No...,"turning to leave so I may avoid growing bitter, "crows have to eat to."
We left, and talked about the weather. We pretended the event wasn't significant.
***
"Is that you," she asked, peering out from the couch in response to the sound of the door.
"No."
"How was your day?"
"Good... good..." I rummaged through the pantries in search of some carbohydrates I could devour and develop a nice undeserved sleepiness with.
"You're home a little late," she had gotten up from the couch and was now smiling at me in the white frame of the kitchen door. She is either constantly posing, or just one of the most photogenic individuals I've ever met.
