The war vet lay on the park bench beneath his woolen blanket, half-frozen, half-asleep, and all in on a night terror. Above him in the bare branches of a tree, ink-black feathers reflecting the full moon’s shine roosted two-dozen crows.
“What should we do?” the veteran screamed as his mind drew him through some unimaginable imagined horror.
The largest crow looked down, “How’s about we commit us a murder?”
The surrounding crows cackled and cawed at the dark inside joke.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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