I’m on the street with some friends. We’re playing a kind of game where we shoot rubber harpoons at each other.
Someone tells me I accidentally hit a crow. I hadn’t noticed myself.
I look down and see two crows standing in front of each other. One of them is hurt at the left wing. The other one looks worriedly at his partner and seems to comfort him.
Suddenly the hit bird sees me. He attacks angrily. His big beak bites into my left arm and won’t let go anymore.
He glares furiously into my eyes, which I close before he tries to pick them out.
I say sorry and feel pity for him, stroking the angry crow over his head.
With the big black bird still hanging from my arm, I go home. There he finally lets go.
He’s peaceful now, trotting about in the living room between the legs of tables and chairs.
When I open the front door, he steps outside.
I hope he’ll be fine.
