Eyes of the Birds

Word Count: 576          

      There was a time when the amusement park had been a focal point for fun in the city.  Lights would turn the night sky orange with their multitudes, while the Ferris wheel towered over the fun houses, game tents, and other rides, its own lights visible from miles away.  Oh, and the sounds! Integral to the park as any other element was the laughter of children, low voices of couples walking arm-in-arm, and the shrieks of passengers aboard the rollercoaster or swing carousel.  As the merry-go-round turned slowly, its black and white horses sliding up and down, the organ-like music would climb into the night and burrow deep into the memories of children that would fondly reflect back upon it later in their lives.
         The years had seen the park’s decline, however.  Poor management, not to mention a handful of scandals ranging from embezzlement to sexual harassment had depleted the coffers.  The lights went out and the voices stilled until the Ferris wheel was no more than the skeleton of some great steel monolith.  Never again would be heard the song of the merry-go-round, while its horses remained still upon their rusting slides. 
         Atop Urban Trip, one of the park’s many  fun houses, a murder of crows sat in silence with feathers ruffled to keep out autumn’s chill while they slept.  Their slumber was interrupted, however, as the headlights of a 1980 Chevy Impala lit up the front of the funhouse while the car lumbered along slowly.  The light eventually receded down away from the crows, growing more focused as the car drew closer then came to a halt.  The driver put the car in park then shut off the ignition, the driver’s side door creaking its need to be oiled as it swung open.  With the engine off the crows could hear thumping in the trunk along with a high pitched, muffled whine.  One of the crows cocked its head and watched with eyes of black pearl as a large man climbed out from driver’s seat and walked around to the trunk.  He fumbled with the keys momentarily before finally sliding the correct one in and lifting the trunk open.  With a grunt the giant man pulled a large shapeless mass out of the car and set it on the ground.  The mass was a burlap sack in which something writhed.  The high pitched whine could be heard more clearly now as the fearful sobs of a woman.  After shutting the trunk, the man grabbed one end of the bag and began to drag it across the ground, eliciting a fresh wave of panicked sounds.  He climbed the steps into the fun house, the bird craning its neck and turning its head to one side to watch.  Each time the sack thumped on a step the sobs were interrupted by a moan that seamlessly bled back into the weeping.  In to the fun house they went, his footsteps, the dragging, and the sobbing each fading. 
         The crow let out a single cry like a question, a fleeting curiosity as to where the man and his sack had gone off to.  With fading interest, the bird puffed out its feathers once more and tucked its head down into its body to sleep.  Soon would come the scream that would be choked off to silence then followed by the low chant. 
         The same as the night before and the one before that and the one before that…