The crow flew overhead, and looked down upon us, as if in forewarning of a portending calamity. We sat on the front porch, gazing upon the sunset as the dark slowly started to envelope us. My fingers grew numb and I decided it was best we go in, lest the cold become overwhelming. I entered the kitchen, along with my siblings, and prepared dinner. While eating supper the phone rang and beckoned someone to answer it, we unanimously looked at Johnny, who in turn answered the machine.

He listened steadfastly as the fear in his eyes became palpable; his mouth soon fell agape in sheer terror. “He’s dead,” his voice began to crack under the strain thrust upon it, “He’s dead!”

He dropped the phone, and, unsure as to what to do, ran outside, looked up at the sky as if to implore God, and saw a crow, flying South.