Two's a crowd

Pitch black, yet I could see with startling clarity a gemlike eye the distance. I knew it was me I was looking at, but that was impossible. It turned to me. I saw both eyes, one clear as lake Tianchi, and the other blue as the sky reflected on it. It locked its inexplicable eyes on me and I froze. I felt nothing. I lost sensation of my body. I was naked. I became a mere concept; an idea.

And then it vanished.

It's around 11, and I'm finally awoke from my nap in central park. Though I had a place to sleep nearby, central park felt like home. Well, central park -is- home. But I can't stay here like I used to anymore.

The folks at the hostel I worked at called me Dale Robinson, but I'm not sure who that is. The truth is a few months back, I woke up near the hostel with a face I didn't recognize (everyone else seemed to). Dale had lived quite a life. But I was not him. I was a crow until the night before.

I still remember some of my life as a crow, but less so each passing day. I still transform regularly, it doesn't seem like a thing I can control. THough some days are worse than others, they are consistent. Transforming in the park feels a bit more comfortable, though no less painful. These transformations are top down and usually stop by the time they reach my hips, but most of the times they don't even make it past my neck.

It should be weird walking around Manhattan with a crow's head, but honestly most folks don't really pay all that much attention to me. The group of freaks in Times Square accept me as one of their own, though they insist that I'm cosplaying something. I don't need to hustle for money, so I usually don't engage with them more than a passing greeting. My voice is hoarse and gravelly when I talk, not fluid and native like Dale's. Sometimes it gets so hard to form words, that I can't help by crow accidentally. The buskers and freaks laugh and compliment me on my commitment when I do this.

I spend most of my day reading books at one of the many coffee shops in the area, changing seats to move myself with the masses of costumed workers. Nobody really seems to pay much attention. As a crow I never got to relax like this. There was always a fight for survival. I imagine I had a family, but I can't remember them. Did crows even care about families? Surely we must have.

Dale has a daughter aged 6 who lives with her mother. He works nights, so he doesn't get to see her often. I wish I could remember his memories. Although I don't have his memories, I seem to be able to speak the languages he knew (French, English, and a bit of Swahili) and use most of the craft skills he knows. But his life and mine has been quite isolated so far.

Though I have access to his apartment, I only really go there to read more of his books and make dinner. I've never slept there transformed. It doesn't feel right. Thankfully it's still quite warm in the park, so I've got some refuge. I don't know how I'll handle this when the mornings get colder.

Dale was really into philosophy and the occult. His bedroom shelves are packed with notebooks and tiny phamplets, and there are boxes full of books. I can't help but feel lost. But I don't have any clue as what to do, so reading these books is as good as any step. So that's what I do, each day when I go to the park to prepare for my transformation, I take with me a book. And today's is *Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling *.

I ask for a straw to drink my cold brew coffee. No one tells you how hard it is to sip with a beak.

Suddenly the phone rings, Dale's daughter is calling.