Crow
By Robert Haydon Jones
Response

Eustace had always been a Crow. He had also always been a male Human. Part of Eustace would always dangle. When he took flight, something always glinted. It always felt good. He liked feeling so beautiful. Once, early on, he was diving and glinting and preening in the glint — going faster and faster – when, suddenly he was not alone. He was flying in perfect tandem with a companion. It filled him. He smiled – and then deep chortled for hours.

Crows were a minority and that was okay. The wild thing centered in Eustace and all Crows would never be tamed. Only Crows knew that their wild interior was independent and totally in charge. The others never suspected that the force that could suddenly propel a dozing Crow into an arching epitome of beauty suddenly capping off a reckless, exquisite dive with, say, a soothing, surprise, Immelmann Turn, was a dictator. A bad ass dictator.

Still, it was great to be a Crow! Once, Eustace attacked a heavily fortified position and traversed it left-to-right before they really saw him. Then he came all the way back, right-to-left, while they were still discussing him – their response was so tardy and so drunken that Eustace’s companions laughed and laughed and laughed. He had always known he would reverse course and come back. Of course, it was not his decision. That was scary. Very scary. Very thrilling. Very Crow.

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