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Hunting Crows

I haven't slept in over 60 hours. I'm not an insomniac; I always fell asleep before my wife. I just can't anymore. During the mundane I stare out the living room window into the backyard. The dogs chase crows into and out of trees. Every few hours Rusty will clinch one in his jaw, he and his half-brother will mutilate the prey, scatter the remains over the lawn and lick the blood off each other's faces. Or I'll spend a lot of time scrubbing my body in the shower. The water always turns icy before I dry myself off. The nights pass me by as I burrow, fighting tears. Sometimes my wife hugs me with boiling oil. Usually she sleeps. I know that I'll lose my job, then the wife, then the house, if I keep this routine. That doesn't help me sleep. Neither do thoughts of Jared, who used to hunt crows with the dogs, but hasn't killed a single one in two and a half days.

Story by:

Andrew J. Stone

submitted at 1:17am

18 August 2011

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