The Crow

The crow tapped on my window twice. Like bursts of tiny, quiet gunfire. The first time, I was sleeping. I sat upright in bed, sweating. The crow was in my dream. It was Lisa, talking to me through the window. Lisa was the crow. “You’re a crow?” I asked. “Looks like it,” she answered, and I could hear her through the glass. The second time, I was awake now, heart pounding in my chest and my pulse drumming in my ears. I turned to the window and it was real and I looked right into its eyes.

I’m doing this.