A Murder of Crows WC 293

A Murder of Crows

In my dream I was passing by the cemetery, my father’s final resting place. I hadn’t been there to pay my respects in a few months, so I decided to do that.

I finally found the road that led me to his gravesite. As I pulled up to it, I saw a huge black crow sitting on his headstone. Just sitting there like it was waiting for something. I looked in my rearview mirror to see if someone had followed me.

They had. Two men in cowboy hats had pulled up in a white limousine. I looked toward the stone again. Now there was a murder of crows sitting on and around my father’s gravestone. I didn’t dare get out of the car.

The cowboys exited the limo and walked toward me just as the crows began flying toward my car.

“Hey buddy, you’re gonna pay for what your father did!” the taller one said through his chewing tobacco, brown juice dripping from his mouth.

I was terrified!

“What did he do?”

“You’re gonna find out right now,” the shorter one with the crooked, yellow teeth said. “And you're gonna pay, buddy!”

The taller of the two spit out his chew as he reached for my door handle.

And that’s when I woke up.

I wiped my sweaty brow, rearranged my comforter, and adjusted my pillow. It was 3 am; I needed more sleep. I settled in again praying the nightmare would not be repeated. My heart was still racing; I closed my eyes, trying to calm myself.


My father is not dead, Or at least he wasn’t yesterday. I need to call him.

And what’s with the cowboys and crows?