Flash Fiction

From his window overlooking the forest he could see the crow. And the crow could see him. It came and settled on the window ledge and cawed. The voice of the crow cut through his whole body. He opened the window and the crow flew away into the forest.

He climbed out onto the ledge where the crow had sat and experimentally flapped his arms. Looking down from this place it was clear that he would die if he tried to fly and failed. So, he climbed in from the ledge.

He descended the five flights of stair from his window to the ground and made the short walk across to the forest. The steady drizzle that had started as the crow had cawed now soaked him through on his brief trek to reach the forest. At the first large tree he came to he climbed. On reaching a branch that he considered appropriate he flapped his arms yet again. Leaves fluttered. He jumped. The crow cawed raucously as he hit the rain sodden ground with a thump.

Back at his window he watched the rain batter the trees of the forest. He put the stale bread on the window ledge.