Crow Scar's Last Stand

Crow Scar's Last Stand

The old scarecrow awoke from his post-harvest sleep. He was uneasy and twitchy.

“Don’t tell me it’s Halloween! That means...”

He managed to look over one shoulder. All the surrounding fields were ablaze in single spots where scarecrows had once stood.

“The raider crows are coming! They are carrying burning brands to rid the fields of their protectors. I have protected my fields from many such raids, and I will again!”

Crow Scar straightened on his stand, ready for battle. His head stuffing that held shredded pages from a tattered copy of The Wizard of Oz, had flattened slightly. He shook his head to fluff it and stimulate his smarts.

He heard them before he saw the pinpoints of fire in the sky.

“You’re in trouble now,” he told himself even as he braced for the onslaught.

Soon they were on him in waves. He held on and shook himself frequently to remind them who he was.

The pain of fiery pinpricks began to be felt. But still he held on, for the sake of his crop. Without hesitation, he flapped his glove hands at those who tried to land on him.

Crow Scar began to tire. But his desire to save his fields pushed him onward. Soon the crows with brands were covering him and poking him with them.

He could feel himself smoking and starting to go up in flames like the rest of his comrades. His spirit fought on, but his body became consumed. Finally, all that was left was his head.

“At last, I can go to Oz and get a real brain,” was his last thought.

When the old farmer whose fields he protected found him the next day, he took the unburned head away to use on a new scarecrow.