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Why am I doing this? What is wrong with me? I feel like I'm doing something wrong. But, am I really?
~
The crows meet Carrow in November, just after the mistress of the house kicked him out onto the streets, with nothing to call his own but a meagre few toiletries and a loaf of bread. He could do nothing but grit his teeth and walk out with his head held high.
At the park where he once stood beside his brothers, those conmen, he finds the first crow, its glittering black eyes staring at him with a knowing look.
"What're you looking at, huh?"
He kicks a pinecone by his feet in its direction, hoping it would scram, but at its refusal to move, he can only ignore it with a frustrated groan. Nothing was going his way. Sitting on the bench next to it, he pulls the hard bread out of the paper bag and breaks off a piece, staring at it melancholically.
Had it been barely a day ago when he sat at the table beside the rest of them, eating warm bread and bullying the maids even when it tasted good? Carrow doesn't care anymore. The crow is still next to him, now staring between the bread and him, waiting.
"You want the bread? Well, guess what, it's not for free. Nothing in this world is free, so don't you go believing those liars when they pretend."
Carrow scoffs. He really was crazy, talking to a stupid bird in a park, broke. A caw catches his attention, and another crow lands on the bench next to the first.
"What, you're calling your friends now? Guess what, you aren't getting any!"
The birds obviously cannot understand his words, so they sit on the bench and stare at him, black eyes like jewels in the dead of night. Carrow glares at them, glares at them waiting for them to move, but they don't so he can't do anything. He lets out a long suffered sigh, leaning back against the bench.
"I can't even stand up to birds now. How much more useless can I get?"
He breaks the bread in his hands and offers the pieces to the crows.
"Eat up. You'd better get me something in return 'cause this isn't for free."
The birds look at him for a moment longer, and he leaves the bread on the bench between them. They snatch it up immediately and fly away without a look back. Carrow looks away.
~
When Carrow cracks the knots out of his neck and back the next morning, retribution for sleeping on a hard bench all night, the crows sit at his head, each holding shiny silver junk in their beaks.
~
Over the next week, Carrow alternates between bothering his friend for a job at the cafe he works at ("Even part-time works!") and buying bread for the crows. They had brought over two more of their friends, and they met up at the bench at the park. Every night, he would give them bread, and every morning, he found them sitting above him with fabric, shiny metals, paper and other objects in their beaks.
At some point, around a week into their routine, Carrow realizes with a guffaw that he had somehow become the crows’ breadcrumb dealer. He finally got the job as a delivery boy at the pizza shop across the street too, so he decides he could be a little lavish and celebrates by getting a slightly costlier loaf from the bakery. He wakes up to the crows holding paper in their beaks. Rubbing the crust out of his eyes, Carrow pulls the paper out carefully, eyes widening as he realizes what they have picked up. Somehow, the crows had gotten their hands on money. In his hands sit two fives and a one. Eleven dollars. Almost his salary as a delivery boy. Carrow lets out a delighted laugh.
"Picked up on the laws of the world, huh? These bits of paper run the world, boys! Might as well give you a gift tonight. I'll get that bread again, alright?"
Carrow stretches out again, folding the bills in his hand carefully and putting them into the small bag that currently holds all his belongings, and sets out to his job again.
~
Since the first time Carrow brought them expensive bread crumbs in return for the bills, the crows seemed to have picked up the fact that he appreciated those green pieces of paper, enough to get them better bread again. They absolutely loved that bread. They show up the next morning holding more, and two weeks later Carrow has racked up almost $200 in just the bills that the crows find for him. They figured it out. Get the man the green, get the tasty bread.
Carrow figured that this was probably wrong somehow, but it wasn't like he was the one stealing or anything. The birds just happened to pick up on a fact and what they did to procure the bills had nothing to do with Carrow. The four crows had grown too, with six of them, at least three or four bringing in money every morning. He had enough to keep working at the delivery service while looking for job openings for cooks with better pay at the internet cafe nearby. He even had enough to eat a proper meal every now and then, able to buy ingredients and try new recipes.
Carrow smiled. Things were looking up.
~
By the time November rolls around again, there is a murder of crows sitting around a man on a bench at the park every night, a man who became a millionaire through nothing but breadcrumbs and a few feathered friends.
971 words