Someone Once Told Me That

“Someone once told me that the cock calls up the sun. The owl calls down the moon. And the crow calls for the reaper.” The child picked the pockets of a dead soldier before moving to the next. The crow followed. It swiveled its ink-black head as she pulled a silver locket from the collar. The trinket reflected the blood-red light of the dying sun.

“I should like it,” the crow croaked.

The girl surveyed the battlefield. “I should like to give it, but I must collect just as you must call. And we shall both be busy this night.” The crow gave a mournful cry. The child examined the locket dangling from her blood-tipped fingers. “Perhaps a bargain?”

The crow cocked its head.

“Before you call the reaper for me, might you ask first?”

The crow hopped from the shoulder of one corpse to the chest of the next. “I shall happily oblige.”

The girl held out the trinket, and the crow plucked it from her crimson-stained palm.

The plague swept past. The crow returned to ask if it might call the reaper for her. She politely declined. A decade came and went along with another request. Three decades. Nearly eight total. Feathers ragged and dulled, the crow laid the age-blackened locket down as it inquired.

Gray-haired, thin as a wisp of wind, the girl smiled indulgently. The crow lit upon her shoulder as the reaper answered its call. Together, the crow and the child passed beyond the veil.

Photo by Chris Sabor