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One warm, sun-drenched afternoon, Erik and Lyle decided to escape the confines of their rented townhouse in Belgravia, and escape London altogether. They decided to go to lunch in the countryside.
They packed a simple picnic of sandwiches, chips, and a thermos of lemonade and took a train to a small village in Buckinghamshire. From the village square, they made their way to a meadow on the village outskirts, a sprawling expanse of green dotted with wildflowers.
Erik spread out a checkered blanket, smiling in an open, carefree way that Lyle hadn't seen since he was six years old.
Lyle busied himself with unpacking their lunches, desperate to divert his mind from the dark places it was bound to roam to.
With that vein of thought, Lyle stood up and hugged him. “I love you, Erik,” he said, his tone wavering. He sounded like he was about to cry. “I love you too, Lyle,” Erik replied, hugging him back.
“Okay, let's eat!” Lyle sat back down and took the lid off the thermos, taking a swig of lemonade.
Just as they were biting into their sandwiches, they heard a sudden rushing sound like wind. They turned their heads together and saw that, perched on the edge of the field, there was an ominous crowd of crows.
At first, Lyle thought that maybe he was imagining things, but as he squinted, he clearly saw a congregation of at least a dozen crows, their black feathers glinting in the sunlight. They seemed to stare at him accusingly with their black, beady eyes.
“What do you think they want?” Erik chuckled nervously, crumbs clinging to his lips. “Are we trespassing on their territory, or something?”
“Maybe they want to join us,” Lyle replied, grinning as he playfully threw a few breadcrumbs towards the birds. They hopped closer with a curious confidence, as if drawn to the laughter and the food.
As the seconds turned into minutes, the crows became restless, cawing among themselves, their sharp voices creating an unsettling harmony. Erik took a sip from the thermos and raised an eyebrow. “You know, there’s an old legend about crows,” he said, adopting a mock-serious tone. “They gather in groups when they're plotting something.”
“Plotting what? The downfall of humanity?” Lyle laughed, but a peculiar feeling crept up his spine as he glanced at the feathered crowd. “What if they’re planning some kind of uprising?”
With a mix of sarcasm and curiosity, Erik leaned forward. “You know something, a group of crows like this is called a murder.” He watched as the crows conferred, their heads bobbing in unison, and for a moment, it seemed like they were sharing secrets.
Then, one particularly large crow, with a glinting beak and more feathers than the rest, flapped its wings and landed close, its eyes fixed on them.
The other crows became quiet and formed a perfect circle around their leader. Lyle and Erik exchanged bewildered glances. “Okay, this is getting weird,” Lyle muttered.
Erik leaned in closer, sensing that the atmosphere was changing. The lead crow tilted its head, as if assessing them. “What if —” Erik continued, his voice barely above a whisper, “what if they’re here to take a stand against us, to punish us somehow?”
As if responding to his words, the lead crow cawed loudly, and in a flurry of wings, the crows took flight, filling the air with a rush of feathers and caws.
They swooped over the brothers, casting fleeting shadows on the blanket before they descended again, landing gracefully back in front of their picnic.
Resolutely, the lead crow took a step forward, its beady eyes narrowing as it seemed to challenge them. Erik and Lyle were caught between fear and laughter, unsure whether they should get up and run away or use the basket as a makeshift defensive weapon. “It’s like they’re holding a council!” Lyle exclaimed.
“Alright, alright,” Erik said, half-serious, half-amused as he picked up a potato chip and held it out in offering. “Hey man, we come in peace!”
The crow tilted its head, momentarily intrigued. Then, as if sensing the gesture, it hopped forward and snatched the chip, the act igniting an even more frenzied cawing from the rest.
In no time, the air was filled with a cacophony as the other crows rushed forward, pecking at the crumbs that Lyle and Erik had left behind.
They burst into laughter, their fear quickly dissolving into amusement. “Looks like we’re being robbed!” Lyle yelled, tossing a few more chips to the flock.
“Alright, crows, you win this time!” Erik shouted, joining in the fun as they offered more chips, the birds growing bolder with each morsel.
As the sun began to dip low in the sky, painting it in hues of orange and pink, Lyle and Erik found themselves surrounded by the bustling murder of crows.
Their ‘plot’ had not been one of an uprising, but rather a simple gathering of curious creatures seeking a taste of crumbs and companionship.
Eventually, as the sky began to take on shades of orange and red, the crows took flight. Lyle looked at Erik and laughed. “Next time, I guess we should bring more food!”