File type: Text File (.txt) [Download]
-----------------------------------------
"We are all just prisoners here of our own device"
This began about a quarter of a season ago, as we reckon time. The population of mankind had begun to migrate between their large structures that they visited during the day but never stayed the night. I sat between my father and the oldest one.
"They're sluggish now, like they are sick. Or maybe have large numbers of parasites," she said as we watched them trudge along.
"There have always been some who ambled along like that," answered my father. "Has the number of them grown that much?"
She was silent, and we all watched. One of my sisters flew up to join us, and our welcoming calls attracted some attention. Some of them looked up and most held up their precious small blocks as if to show them to us. But it was a short-lived distraction from fondling and preening the small boxes.
It suddenly occurred to me that those blocks might have food in them that needed to be worked and teased out slowly, like some delicious treats I had found discarded in mankind's bins. Translucent, inedible bindings sometimes protected those treats, but we spent many hours perfecting the art of freeing them. If they were small enough, I carried the bundles to more private places where I could work uninterrupted. And carrying it like they were doing would mean they would not have to share what they had found. It made sense.
"Look," said my dad. "Those two females are going to walk right into that male because they're too busy picking at their blocks."
We watched, transfixed by the lumbering primates' slow appointment with destiny. At the last second, one of the females realized they were going to bump into the male and a slow shuffling dance occurred. The other female never looked up from her small box as she clutched and poked at it, but the way it turned in the sunlight made it flash at us.
We all saw it; we were all struck dumb by the beauty of the bright flash. It was at that moment that I decided that I must get one.
Of course, all of us in the murder studied their habits. They left behind such interesting things, after all. But I made it a special study to watch how they caressed and fondled those precious blocks. Secreted away in their coverings, any of them might produce one at a moment's notice and stroke it, poke at it, and gaze intently at it, and then put it away safely out of my reach.
I longed to see one flash again. I spent long hours waiting to discover the secret of when the sun might catch it and make it shine as brilliantly as any of their mysterious round disks or sharp taloned tools for opening holes in their mounds and moving carts on wheels--the ones that provided meals in the hard solid ground that they hit and sped on without noticing.
This time seemed to be the most opportune one to get one. They sometimes set their box on top of the moving carts while they stowed their other possessions. I noticed more than once that they would almost forget it up there. But they never did forget their block. They sometimes forgot food, or liquids in containers on the top, but never their blocks.
So, I grew bolder, and perched just out of reach and stayed silent. I would jump down and grab the next one I saw that was within easy reach, given that the man set the box down and walked away from it. Finally, this happened, and it was a female which was incredibly lucky because they often had more bulky items to carry. While she was preoccupied at a back compartment, I hopped to the top of her cart and grasped the long-awaited spoils of the hunt and flew away.
There was a lot of primate shrieking and calling but I was safe. The block was quite a load, but I could just manage to get it to a crook in the support of a large shelter for their carts, where they could not see and where my family could not see either. It was my treasure, and mine alone.
That was three days ago. It seems to be growing faint; like a living thing, sometimes it reacts to my caresses and preening, or my more frustrated pecking and clawing. Sometimes it sulks in silence. Many times, it sprang to life and sang to me. The front becomes bright and strange images cross it. I managed to satisfy it once, and I swear I heard one of the men's voices from it. I was afraid but in awe. I cannot leave it alone now. It has so many mysteries to decipher, and such a fleeting beauty that I desperately want to understand.
I feel weak. I know I would have trouble flying far now, but I'm sure I can get something to eat soon. Surely, I'll remember to eat. But maybe the block will signal me again and reveal more of its secrets. I'll wait just a little longer. Just a little longer.
-----------------------------------------
"We are all just prisoners here of our own device"
This began about a quarter of a season ago, as we reckon time. The population of mankind had begun to migrate between their large structures that they visited during the day but never stayed the night. I sat between my father and the oldest one.
"They're sluggish now, like they are sick. Or maybe have large numbers of parasites," she said as we watched them trudge along.
"There have always been some who ambled along like that," answered my father. "Has the number of them grown that much?"
She was silent, and we all watched. One of my sisters flew up to join us, and our welcoming calls attracted some attention. Some of them looked up and most held up their precious small blocks as if to show them to us. But it was a short-lived distraction from fondling and preening the small boxes.
It suddenly occurred to me that those blocks might have food in them that needed to be worked and teased out slowly, like some delicious treats I had found discarded in mankind's bins. Translucent, inedible bindings sometimes protected those treats, but we spent many hours perfecting the art of freeing them. If they were small enough, I carried the bundles to more private places where I could work uninterrupted. And carrying it like they were doing would mean they would not have to share what they had found. It made sense.
"Look," said my dad. "Those two females are going to walk right into that male because they're too busy picking at their blocks."
We watched, transfixed by the lumbering primates' slow appointment with destiny. At the last second, one of the females realized they were going to bump into the male and a slow shuffling dance occurred. The other female never looked up from her small box as she clutched and poked at it, but the way it turned in the sunlight made it flash at us.
We all saw it; we were all struck dumb by the beauty of the bright flash. It was at that moment that I decided that I must get one.
Of course, all of us in the murder studied their habits. They left behind such interesting things, after all. But I made it a special study to watch how they caressed and fondled those precious blocks. Secreted away in their coverings, any of them might produce one at a moment's notice and stroke it, poke at it, and gaze intently at it, and then put it away safely out of my reach.
I longed to see one flash again. I spent long hours waiting to discover the secret of when the sun might catch it and make it shine as brilliantly as any of their mysterious round disks or sharp taloned tools for opening holes in their mounds and moving carts on wheels--the ones that provided meals in the hard solid ground that they hit and sped on without noticing.
This time seemed to be the most opportune one to get one. They sometimes set their box on top of the moving carts while they stowed their other possessions. I noticed more than once that they would almost forget it up there. But they never did forget their block. They sometimes forgot food, or liquids in containers on the top, but never their blocks.
So, I grew bolder, and perched just out of reach and stayed silent. I would jump down and grab the next one I saw that was within easy reach, given that the man set the box down and walked away from it. Finally, this happened, and it was a female which was incredibly lucky because they often had more bulky items to carry. While she was preoccupied at a back compartment, I hopped to the top of her cart and grasped the long-awaited spoils of the hunt and flew away.
There was a lot of primate shrieking and calling but I was safe. The block was quite a load, but I could just manage to get it to a crook in the support of a large shelter for their carts, where they could not see and where my family could not see either. It was my treasure, and mine alone.
That was three days ago. It seems to be growing faint; like a living thing, sometimes it reacts to my caresses and preening, or my more frustrated pecking and clawing. Sometimes it sulks in silence. Many times, it sprang to life and sang to me. The front becomes bright and strange images cross it. I managed to satisfy it once, and I swear I heard one of the men's voices from it. I was afraid but in awe. I cannot leave it alone now. It has so many mysteries to decipher, and such a fleeting beauty that I desperately want to understand.
I feel weak. I know I would have trouble flying far now, but I'm sure I can get something to eat soon. Surely, I'll remember to eat. But maybe the block will signal me again and reveal more of its secrets. I'll wait just a little longer. Just a little longer.
The shining cage has no bars
But still holds a hapless victim prisoner
The murder at the campus where I work has at least three generations, as far as I can tell. I've tried to befriend them but my success has been limited.
I know We are all just prisoners here of our own device is by the Eagles, not the crows, and I'm bending the meaning of the lyrics a little bit, but I think it works.
But still holds a hapless victim prisoner
The murder at the campus where I work has at least three generations, as far as I can tell. I've tried to befriend them but my success has been limited.
I know We are all just prisoners here of our own device is by the Eagles, not the crows, and I'm bending the meaning of the lyrics a little bit, but I think it works.
Category Story / Animal related (non-anthro)
Species Corvid
Gender Male
Size 103 x 120px
Listed in Folders
Thanks, V. I can always take solace in the fact that if something is not widely read, you seem to give it a look.
I do my best to read all the prompters Hauke, but in your case it's a given because you're so good...
Vix
Vix
Wow O _ O. I used talk to ravens in Flagstaff. It really seemed to freak them out - and while I can't say what they thought, thinking seemed to be one of their favorite things to do. Their depth of concentration was palpable, their patience commendable and their personalities delightful. While I realize this is about crows (a murder of them) I can't help but reminded of their other feathered relation. I do rather suspect they'd like one of those little blinky boxes, I can imagine a few have managed to get their claws on one, too perhaps - though I'm not sure they could fly off with one.
I may have been taking liberties with the payloads they could lift but up close, they are quite large birds.
This was a cute story. I often think about what our dogs and cats must think of our behavior with our phones. Especially those that are old enough to remember when smart phones were not as ubiquitous.
Are there any dogs or cats that old now? It seems like the age of a person needing their phone to remember their own address has been around for quite a while.
I had Chiquita when I made the switch from a flip phone to a really limited smart phone (LG Optimums V). It was much longer before I got an actual smart phone.
Comments