heart as black as a crow (2AM story) | [glorinel oquendo pagán]




I can feel the crows stare even with my eyes close. A black crow never lies down when a black heart beats louder than its cries. My grandma taught me that. She believed that crows as black as night were a death sentence for those who had nothing but darkness in their minds and poison in their hearts. 

I remember the first time I saw the crow. It feels like a lifetime away and it was just yesterday, but I had seen how minutes could feel like hours so why can’t a day feel like the infinite. 

 I try to pinpoint to the exact moment when I turned cruel, but it wasn’t a moment but a constellation of them. And like a constellation is built of stars that define it, I’m built by moments that define me and sadly most of those moments weren’t my greatest. It’s funny how you don’t realize the consequences of your actions until you’re too late.

I like to think of myself as a law of physics, as an object of movement, as a hurricane. I like to blame it on science, an object in motion should stay in motion; a hurricane should blow anything in its path. Isn’t that why hurricanes have human names, because we have the same effect?

The crow cries and I’m running out of time. I lay flat on my back feeling the wetness of the glass and the wind as it rustles my hair. I open my eyes and stare at the crow evenly, he may be the death of me but I won’t cower from him. When I first saw it yesterday at dawn I thought it was a regular crow, but then I noticed the oddness of its color, how it seems to follow me like my own personal shadow and how nobody else could see him but me. Things seemed to get odder as the day grew darker. I started having a series of d
éjà vus as the day looked like a repetition of past mistakes. 

Or… not exactly a repeat, but a rewind. 

A moment that may have seemed perfectly back then but now seen in a new light was like staring at it backwards through a mirror and it all seemed wrong. 

My life seemed wrong. 

I wonder if this was how the Queen of Hearts felt when her parents disowned her for her cruelness.

I think about how the things that pleased me last week didn’t seem to please me yesterday. How making someone miserable didn’t make me laugh or feel better about myself and, again, I wonder when did I lose my way so badly that before yesterday my aim in life was to make people feel like they were beneath me. 

The crow cries again. I jump to my feet and run as fast as I can. 

I deserve some gray colors before the crow cries louder than my black heart.
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