Student: Spreading Wings

"This one?" I held the illustration up to Yrr, who sat upon the bench while I sat upon the ground.

"Grus Americana; the Whooping Crane. Native to northern Dverja and has a wide berth for selective breeding grounds, a diverse diet of most any small animals found near their ponds, lakes, or wetlands, between 1.2 to 1.6 meters in height and 4.5 to 8.5kg in weight."

"This one?" I returned the drawing to the pile on my left and retrieved another from the down turned one on my right.

"Irena Heirophantus A; the Harbinger Bluebird alpha…"

"Wrong," I interrupted before he could iterate the statistics, "It's beta."

"I'm…" He paused, "I'm pretty sure it's not. There are only three species of the Irena genus, and I've committed them all to memory. I even did a report on them in high school!"

I raised an eyebrow. I was not accustomed to him vociferating his objections, much less questioning me; it was a welcome change of pace, "I'm looking at the back of the poster right now, Yrr, it says beta." I turned the picture around and brought the miniscule print of the illustrator's name and the bird's biological name to the boy's face.

"That can't be right…" He scratched his head, "Do you have another picture of the alpha? What about another beta? The alpha species has very small white lining on the feathers just between their eyes, like a small mask. Beta lacks that distinction, otherwise they are indistinguishable."

"Are you certain you don't have the two confused?" I set the picture on the ground at my feet and searched the pile at my right for another, similar drawing.

"No, I'm positive. This is exactly the kind of thing I've got to be able to identify."

"Okay, give me a second," After a few more moments of sifting I managed to find another one. Initially I thought it was the same bird.

"Yes, that's a beta." I couldn't tell the difference, initially, and laid the two pictures together on the ground.

"They both look like betas to me."

"Right here," He stooped over and pointed at a point right between the eyes of the first picture, right above the thin beak, "See this? Only twelve feathers have the pigmentations, and only on the first half of the feathers. The pigmentation is only visible in male adults, otherwise the species' are impossible to tell apart."

After careful scrutiny I could discern the differences in detail. I flipped over the new drawing and read the name as Irena Heirophantus B, "Huh, okay so one of these is wrong."

"Trust me, it's the first one."

"I suppose you are right," I conceded. I was not yet familiar with the entire nomenclature of the innumerable species of creatures in that world, "Very astute observation, Yrr. You need a discriminating eye for the esoteric minutia in these fields. I'm proud."

Yrr scratched his nose and grinned, "Praise from the high and mighty Hal Wiren?"

"Well deserved, I'm confident you'll have no issue on your finals. How are your anatomy studies going?"

"Very well, I'm actually done prepping for that." Yrr intoned.

"Good. I'm already quite certain you will ace your physics, but do you feel you need to cover anything before the end of the week?"

"No, I'm fine, thank you." He smiled.

"Great, I'm hungry, let's go grab something."

"Sounds good."

-----

I sat upon the same bench as usual, alone today. Yrr had earned his two year degree in zoology, and with help from scholarships - and a shining commendation from his physics teacher - he managed to pay for the next two years of college for his degree in ornithology. He would have never been able to pay for the extra education himself, so I was more than happy to assist him with that.

It was mid-winter, but I was still in a short sleeve dress shirt and khakis. There was rain earlier in the day, and the ground was wet with precipitation, but the temperature was moderate and very agreeable with me. The sky was overcast with cumulonimbus bearing signs of more rain to come, but I fretted not; rain was my favorite type of weather. The only thing I particularly minded was the fact that my pants were wet, now, and this bothered my sense of touch.

The air was clean and crisp, as it always is after a rain, and I could perceive scents from kilometers away. The lumber mill was active, now, and the olfaction of sawdust and smoke dominated scent in my northern hemisphere. Nearer to me were the various vendors, set up now with broad-brimmed umbrellas, still cooking and pedaling their wares. I could smell rabbit, salmon, beef, pork and duck being roasted and salted; brussel sprouts, carrots, broccoli, beets and potatoes being boiled. I started drooling, accompanied by a yawn; no matter how hard I tried I could not shake my rearing of nocturnal sleeping habits.

I brought my hand to my breast pocket and pulled out my watch. It read 4:01: Yrr was late, today. I sat up and slipped my feet into the loafers on the ground before the bench, and started walking through the square towards my usual vendor. I ordered the standard two rabbit buns and returned to the seat, unwrapping one and using its paper to add an additional layer of insulation to the other.

I finished the bun, sat there for a while, ran through tomorrow's curriculum in my head, solved a few Riemann sums equations – one of the few mathematical systems I had issue with – and kicked a rock around for a while. I looked at my watch again and read 5:20. I sighed and unwrapped the other bun: it was cold. Still, not being one who condones the waste of food, I ate the slimy bun and left for home.

-----

I returned each day, and each day the boy neglected to grace me with his company. I sat in rain, on the fifth day, and caught a cold – a true peculiarity, considering, likely due to my often times natural lifestyle, I have an inconceivably fortified constitution. I left the square that evening and sauntered the streets, aimlessly walking about with no particular destination in mind.

The precipitation ceased quite suddenly as the thin strata layer cleared. I missed the rhythmic sound of the droplets thundering down on the brick road, but not the drenched clothing. I, for whatever reason, decided to walk down Galvin Street. It was one of the roads leading into a poorer neighborhood. Not a soul walked the street but me, and the tranquil quiet was a welcome curiosity in such a bustling city.

I let out a sneeze and expectorated phlegm through my nostrils. A nearby Corvus corone bounded at the startling discharge. I followed the crow's flight path, and as I did my oculus fell upon the silhouette of a man sitting, hunched over with face buried in arms, on one of the stone steps leading up to an apartment building; he was sobbing.

I followed the street, averting my gaze as I neared the figure; I was not going to alter my path for fear of social inconsiderateness. I almost leapt out of my pants when, as I passed the figure not a meter away from me, I heard a voice question, "Hal?"

I turned around swiftly and saw none other than the decimated visage of Yrr gazing up at me. I could not see him well in the twilight, but there were evident signs of physical abuse. His left eye was swollen and black, one of the lenses on his glasses had been popped out; there were various bruises about his face and arms – exposed now as he wore a tank top – and I saw a bloody strip of cloth tied to his left shoulder.

"What the hell happened?!" I fell to the ground and gripped the lad's good shoulder. He fell back with a frightful whimper, rolling to his side and widening his eyes, afraid of my grip, "Yrr, what happened?!" He continued to sob. He clutched the bloody cloth, the wound which it concealed had obviously opened again; I could smell fresh humor. His lips quivered as he whimpered wordlessly, "Damnit, boy," He closed his eyes tight when I made the comment, "Tell me what happened. Who did this?"

He sniffled and rubbed his cheek with his right hand, a small trail of blood wiping off his fingers, "I'm sorry, Mr. Wiren. I hope you didn't wait… too long." He stammered in between sobs.

"What are you talking about?" I was getting frustrated, now. I growled, not at him, exactly, but at his weakness. He cringed further away from me, crawling backwards up another two steps.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting… I just…" Yrr opened his mouth and tried to formulate words, but it appeared as a grimace, "I just…" He broke into sobs again. I looked about. There was not a soul on the streets, but more than a few shades and curtains were pried open just enough for unwelcome eyes to peer in on the events unfolding in the street.

"Yrr, you listen to me, and listen well," I stood, glaring down at the pathetic boy, "I've told you before and I'll tell you again; you can't wrest your life from the thralls of fate if you are not willing to fight it. Believe me, I can attest to this fact," I turned around. It was a cold gesture, and I knew it, but it was also what he needed, I believed, "Five days. I want you to meet me in the usual spot in five days, you understand?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wiren…" He whimpered. I wanted to strike to boy.

"Five days. Remember."

What else could I do? I walked away.

-----

My love, my first wife Judith, born and raised in the mountains of Gaea, was a professional assassin. I learned so many things from her. My animistic perceptions were raised to a height even my coyote family could not help me attain. She taught me how to step silently; how to kill efficiently; how to hide a weapon; how to fight like a human; how to manipulate people – though I was never particularly adept at that one – and above all she taught me what it meant to take a life.

I have never been one for subterfuge. Neither in principal nor in practice; I abhor those who would stalk the shadows as opposed to face their demons forthwith. I will not deny, however, that subterfuge is also a natural evolution of life's guile; a survival mechanism for many animals and plants, such as parasites and symbiotic organisms. It is also a necessity for one such as I, who has an eternity to accrue numerous arch-enemies.

I have taken what my beloved once taught me, so long ago, and expanded upon it immensely. I have adapted to newer worlds and greater technologies, evolved with ever progressing forensic science, and held my own against the underworld and society in kind. When I am unable to dominate a world with my magical prowess alone, thanks to the Shadow's impalpable ethereal shackle, I must rely on my wit and natural physical ability to shape the world as I see fit.

The predator and the prey; an assassin needs to be both. Luckily for me I was born with a natural disposition towards both. My Fear drives me to become the hunter through power, yet simultaneously cripples my nous with the mentality of the hunted. I think like prey, I kill like hunter.

I am afraid… That is why I can do what I do.

-----

I had been watching her for three days, since confronting Yrr. She was far from a habitual creature, but I was patient. I may not be able to plot the perfect moment to strike, but I did have control of both time and area. Patience was all I ever needed.

I dug up an old record of Lenna Durveil from the university's student data base. I read her entire record of misdemeanors – nothing too serious, just numerous reports of bullying, suspension, and one charge of drug possession – and gleaned her home address. She was still living with her father, which might have posed a challenge if he did not work full time.

I could always count on Gry Durveil to be absent from his homestead, a comfortable little bungalow on the outskirts of town with two acres of garden land, between the hours of 7:55 A.M. to 5:14 P.M. I arrived every night between 2:00 and 3:00 A.M, climbing a nearby oak tree and concealing myself with a veil of thick branches and strips of tactfully placed brown cloth. The illusion was nothing more than waving branches to anyone who was not deftly scrutinizing the tree from directly beneath it.

The tree was on the edge of the property, next to a nearby alleyway, so I had an escape route planned should anyone notice my observations. Naturally I disguised myself, as well, so little could be done to trace me in the event that anyone got a good look at me.

I pondered why I went to such lengths of security. In this world, where forensics was still in a deplorable state of incompetency in spite of recent scientific developments, murder was a trivial crime to execute if it is done away from prying eyes. The precautions I would have to take were few and far between.

On the third day I found the opportunity I was seeking, if not the best time. Not only one of my targets, but two arrived on the scene. Lenna returned home with Gaal. I questioned how she managed not to get bored with a single boyfriend, it was beyond me, but irrelevant at the moment. I checked my pocket watch and read 4:51 P. M. I would have to work quickly, as I was within the margin of error.

The two entered the house and I waited for several minutes, timing and pacing myself accordingly. When my watch read 5:01 I made a single leap out of the tree and into the alleyway, landing on all fours. One thing Judith taught me was about how you held yourself. Humans, she explained, like many other animals have the potential to read hostile intent in body language. Killing in broad daylight was significantly more difficult to attempt, especially in an area with such a high population, but made possible with, of all things, confidence.

I wore a business casual getup, not my typical attire, but nothing particularly outstanding or indicative of mal-intent. I held myself with the slightest of slouches and walked extremely casually towards the house, my hands in my pockets. I lifted one arm out and stretched a hand behind me head and rubbed my neck, then yawned; Judith always told me that a yawn, even feigned, is one of the least threatening gestures you can make for the public.

I was careful and hyper critical of my movement, but not too critical as to give myself away. Judith explained that when killing in daylight the last thing you want to do is give people an excuse to believe you don't belong where you are. Mastering inconspicuousness was no simple matter, and I could never achieve her subtle prowess. Evidently it also helps to be a woman, but I couldn't do anything about that short of drag; which I believe would be a less than compelling disguise with my figure.

I walked around back; I had scoured their house's external parameter many times during the nights, and walked right in through the back door. I was sure to be very casual, very confident.

I did not know the interior very well, but luckily I did not need to. I could hear the rambunctious love making from three rooms over. I strolled down the hallway to my left until I found the door to the room producing such a ruckus. Very slowly, very carefully, I tested the lock. I was not lucky enough to be presented with an open door, but that was fine.

I pulled the knife out of my boot with my left hand, took it in the back-hand, and kicked the door down with my left boot.

"What the fuck?!"

I flew across the room and stabbed Gaal, who had mounted Lenna in the missionary upon her twin sized bed, in the back of the neck with a practiced precision. He would not speak another word, I knew as I yanked the blade free. Before the girl could make a shriek or a protest I clutched her neck with my free right hand, wringing her supple flesh with a force so great I could hear her breath struggling to escape as saliva dribbled down her mouth in gurgling spurts.

I shifted my hand, and with my thumb I dug into the flesh of her anterior triangle, constricting the air flow along her trachea. She let out a reflexive cough and gagged. I could feel vomit coming up through her esophagus, but it did not flee past my grip and flooded down her lungs. I could not suppress the expression of jubilation as I giggled; it had been several years since I had taken a human life. It was a pity I could not savor the experience more.

I relinquished my thumb's vice and yanked her off of the bed, pulling her out from under the limp corpse of her lover. Most of the oxygen in her body had been expended upon the exchange and as she crumpled to the floor she spat up some of the vomit and coughed weakly, her body uncertain of whether or not to prioritize clearing the lungs or gasping for breath.

I gave her half a dozen second to regain composure, letting her rise to her knees, before I clutched her trunk once more and threw her limp body against the wall, pressing inward with enough force as to keep just enough off her neck so that she could breathe barely. Her eyes started to gloss over as she was losing consciousness and I grinned. For the last moment she stared into my eyes and I felt her fear; it was weak. She knew she was going to die and had accepted it. Curious. I never expected such integrity from a harlot such as her.

"Wiren…?" She moved her mouth but no voice emerged, I read her lips, "Why…?"

"Because I hate you." I chuckled. I dropped the knife to the floor and crushed her neck with my right hand. Her palpebra popped one last time as the last of her breath escaped her, and she closed them. I was not satisfied, though, and thrust my left fist into her breasts with all the force I could muster. Again her eyes opened wide; and this time, for the split second they were open, I saw real fear in those hollow green orbs. I dropped her limp corpse and let it slide down the wall before crushing her jaw with my right knee. No noise emanated from the blow save the giving of flesh and bone; she was already dead.

I heard the front door open and turned around quickly. I grabbed the knife on the floor and opened the window from Lenna's room out into the yard and leapt through.

Why?

It really was for no other reason than my detestation for her. I was frustrated with Yrr and needed to relieve my enmity. She was the perfect target. I truly hated her.

-----

On the fourth day I re-visited an old acquaintance of mine who resided within the city. She lived in a condominium on the fourth floor of a building on the intersection of Salem and Rudder's Street. I hated walking up all those stairs; I have always had a particular aversion to heights, despite my love of climbing trees.

"Yeah, it's here." She sighed.

"Thank you, Frulna." I accepted the box she passed over the dining table to me.

"You better fucking appreciate it; you have no idea how hard it was to procure this in three fucking days!" She ranted fiercely.

"You know I will." I cocked my head back and rolled my eyes. Frulna was a talkative old woman, and always had been.

"You know this is balls-to-the-wall illegal, right? Of course you do, else you'd not have asked me!" She opened up a tin of tobacco and tucked some chew under her lip to the right.

"You won't have a lower jaw if you keep using that stuff, lass."

"This kind of thing isn't even legal in the country for us citizens, you know," She ignored me, continuing on her rave, "I had to get the powder from a firework's seller in the off season; you know how hard that is?! Everything else came from crooked cops. You're damn lucky I got a good connection, but still, three days is not enough time for this Zien!" She borderline shouted. I had known Frulna since she was twelve years old, and she was one of the few people in this world who knew my real name and "condition." For as long as she could remember she had been involved in the black market. Ever since the day I "rescued" her from the slave trade – though she hardly needed my help – we had relied on one another for some of the more shady practices we professed.

"I'll call off our old debts, then, Thank y-"

"A'course it's not like I couldn't handle it, mind," She cawed, rubbing her wrinkled old knuckles against her blouse with a wry grin, "It's just a pain in the ass when a fella I haven't spoken to in five years shows up one day demanding top notch shit in so short a time. Why don't you ever stop by?!"

"I-"

"Bah, ya don't need to explain yourself. You always were too damn detached for your own damn good. Oh, how's Berry? Don't tell me you haven't spoken to him, either! You two were like tape on glue."

"Berry died a few…"

"Son of a bitch owed me money!" Frulna slammed a fist on the table, causing the box to bounce off the edge. I caught it just barely, and set it gingerly on the ground. The woman was rubbing her hand, "Prick always was a deadbeat. Now I guess he's a dead deadbeat, eh?" She chuckled, looking askance with what appeared to be a flash of dejection.

"I guess so." I cocked my elbow and rested my hand on my other palm, looking out the window absently.

"So give it to me straight, kid…what's on your mind?"

"What?" I diverted my gaze towards the old woman for a moment. She leaned forward over the table and analyzed me with a worried countenance. The only thing I hated more than Frulna's never ending-rants were her somber moments of motherly clarity. She had always taken care of me, even when she was but a child.

"Don't jerk me around, Zien; you've been pretty straight laced for almost a decade now. Are you going to throw that all away?"

I glanced back at the box on the ground again and said, "It's not for me, don't worry."

"Bullshit." She stated apathetically with a condemning, blank stare.

"No, really." I retorted.

"It may not be for your use, Zien, but it is for you," She countered wisely, "You're the most brutally honest person I know, Zien, and long ago you once told me that every action any living creature takes is conducted solely in self interest. Somethin' is bothering you pretty bad if you'd be willing to deal with me, again; something so bad that you'd petition me for assistance. What is wrong?"

"I…" I paused, growling deep within my throat. She was right, and I hated it when she was right. Even worse, she was right about my own philosophy, "There's just something I have to do."

Frulna sighed and leaned back in her chair, swinging her flabby old arms over the back and scrutinizing me; she got just as frustrated with my theatrics as I did with hers, "You've got a comfy life, now, don't ya? I heard yer teachin' kids math or some such shit. You really willing to give that up for some petty vendetta, kid?"

"It's not petty…" I suppressed a shout, I was getting angry.

She grunted and turned her gaze away, staring out the window much like I was. It was evening, now, and her window faced the west. The dusty air in the living room of her condominium rippled with crepuscular rays of light emanating from the setting sun. I glanced over at her and saw the reflection of light off her glass left eye, "I don't know if you're really this immortal, god-like being you claim yourself to be, Zien, but even if you aren't you've lived through enough shit in my lifetime alone to justify a much needed retirement. I can't imagine you going ten thousand years living the kind of life you used to lead. Any lesser man would lose their mind."

"I don't need an ignorant whelp like you telling me what to do, Frulna."

"You need someone," She snapped, "and last time I checked I'm the only one willing to deal with your shit. I can see it in your eyes, man. You're already regretting what you're about to do."

I stood up and slammed my open palms on the table. I almost shouted, but feared the noise I might make could draw unwanted attention, so I took a second to calm down and concluded, "Thank you, Frulna, but I can't afford to 'retire.' I made the choice to live this life, and while I might be a contemptible monster, I still stick by my promises," I rounded and picked up the box, cradling it in the crook of my arm, "Farewell, Frulna."

It's all I have.

-----

The air was a comforting chill, just above 1 degree Celsius. The local newspaper predicted snow that night. I was still in shorts and a t-shirt, of course, as I had no work that day. The clouds far above head did show signs of precipitation, but the past few days had been relatively dry.

I sat upon the bench and watched my breath and it condensed in the cold air, blowing puffs erratically for no reason in particular. I drew more than a few stares, a large man in summer attire acting like a child fascinated with the natural phenomena, but for the most part the streets were still empty. I had set the box on the ground at my feet, but held it firmly with my ankles.

I pulled out my pocket watch and it read 4:01. Yrr was late again. The stand selling the rabbit buns was closed for a few weeks; the man's wife was on maternity leave and he was needed at home. I was tempted to partake of something else, but decided against it; I would simply wait for food at home.

For several more minutes I waited, and then checked my watch once more. It read 4:26. I sighed and stood, readying myself to leave; darkness was falling. I took a single step, and before I heard him approach I smelled the familiar olfaction of boiled and stewed rabbit. Yrr was uncharacteristically silent, and from over my shoulder I saw his hand offer a paper wrap before my chest, "Sorry I'm late." His voice was deeper, more refined, somehow.

I stared down and grabbed the bun with my free hand, "Thanks."

"I made it myself; I knew the old man was shut down for a while. I don't know how well it will stack up, but I did my best." There was something else about his voice, too… confidence.

I turned around and sat on the bench, where Yrr had already taken a seat and began tearing into his bun. I set the box back upon the ground at my feet and opened mine. The smell was a little off, but the taste was virtually identical. We ate in silence until each of us had finished their respective meal.

I grabbed his paper wrap and crumpled it together with mine, dropping them into a trash bin near the bench, and when I returned Yrr inquired, "So what did you want?"

"I want you to tell me what happened." I looked over at him and noticed the majority of his bruises had healed; quite remarkable how fast. He wore a heavy coat, and I couldn't see his arm, but I am certain it was still wrapped.

He sighed, "Why bother? Your opinion of me is already set in stone," He paused and sneered, "I'm weak."

I closed my eyes and nodded, "You are, Yrr, but so are we all," I opened my eyes and he was looking up at me from below his brow with inquisitive contempt, "Strength and weakness are not mutually exclusive, Yrr. Rather, they are fluctuating variables of the same equation. Strength is a measure not of one's ability to trump weakness, but rather of one's ability to contest it. Accepting the fact that you are, and always will be weak is the only way to combat it. Nature favors the strong, but the way we use 'strong' in this statement is misleading. Strength can be determined many ways; strength of body; of mind; of guile; of adaptability. The strength of will, though, is perhaps the most important."

He continued to stare silently up at me, anticipating my next explanation, and I complied, "Strength of will is exclusive to life. It is what has kept organic organisms persisting in the cold reality of the universe. Existence knew strength long before life did; the spirits; the earth; even space and the stars all knew strength. Yet they did not know strength as life does, they did not know suffering as life does. It is the force of will, our drive, which gives us the power to stand in the face of a lifeless nature and thrive."

"And what about me?" Yrr questioned.

"The strength of will cannot be given, Yrr, just as the ability to combat one's weakness cannot be taught. I may guide you, but you and you alone are the one who must determine whether or not you have the power to struggle your way through life."

"And how do you propose to guide me?"

I picked the box up off the ground and uncapped it. Inside was a simple flintlock pistol and five bullets complete with a quick-reload cartridge of black powder. A primitive tool, but effective at close range. I passed the open box across the bench over to Yrr, who stared into it with horror. I could see I made a mistake, but I pressed on with my plan regardless, "I can point the gun, son, but you have to pull the trigger."

"No, w-way," He stammered, speaking like his former self, "I-I can't do that."

"All I can do is give you the opportunity to wrest your own future for yourself; I cannot do it for you, Yrr."

"No, no, no…" He repeated, waving his hands in front of his face, "I can't do that."

I sighed, and pulled the box to myself. I had feared this inevitability. I capped the box and let it rest in my lap, "I can help you, Yrr. I can make you disappear, far away from here. You have nothing to fear but yourself."

The boy's eyes softened and I saw tears welling in them, "I just want to fly… So far away from here, Hal," A tear fell to his chin and started to freeze. His nostrils flared and his breath condensed, "I really envy them, you know?" He looked up into the clouds, at a circling gull barely visible in the obfuscating lack of light, "Away from my mother. Away from my peers. Away from the ground and away from the fear," He sniffled, sucking a string of snot back up his nostril, suppressing a sob, "I'm sick of hiding in the ground, hoping the world will pass me over; hoping no one will notice me," He pointed up into the sky, at the gull, "I want to be up there… I want to pass them over; I want to be above it all, Hal!" I closed my eyes and there was a prolonged pause, "I just want to fly away from everything…"

"Then you will have to spread your wings and take the leap, Yrr. As you are, you cannot." He started shedding more tears, each drop of lachrymal fluid falling to the cold stone and promptly freezing.

"No one will caw for me…" I was alerted by this statement. I remember our conversation from so long ago.

I stared down into the ground and pondered my words very carefully, "What is life to you, Yrr?"

"Huh?" He whimpered, looking up at me once more.

"I will tell you what life is. Life is death; a struggle. What were those buns that we just ate? The rabbit we just consumed? Not just the rabbit, but the potatoes, and the flour, and the spices, and the other vegetables? They were all living things, once, just like you or I. What gives us the right to take their lives so mercilessly?"

"I don't… what are you talking about?"

"It is because it is written into life's very script, our biological code. Life, in all but it's most basic of forms, requires life, and therefore death, to persist. We consume the flesh of living, breathing creatures who feel pain; creatures who have struggled their entire lives just to die by our hands. Even the plants feel the loss of death, I guarantee you. Nothing wants to die, and so we kill. We kill because we need to, because it's all we know, it's all we can be."

"How can one live with this guilt, this knowledge? Because living things acknowledge it as necessity. That is the nature of life," I pointed at the ground, "and so when we die we know that our bodies, in turn, shall serve the same purpose of those we killed. We honor those we kill by using their life to continue living, do you understand?"

"What…?"

I did not relent, "To kill one's self is to spit in the face of all those who have died because of you. There is not a single living creature which has not slain, or had slain indirectly, for the purpose of perpetuating their own feeble existence. It is this beauty, this dichotomy of life and death, which justifies the strong's will to live, to kill. If we succumb to our sorrows, if we bereave existence of our natural corpses, we become true murderers; true scum."

"Hal…"

"I cannot abide by suicide, Yrr; I want you to know that." I said with little force behind my words, "I don't know what will become of you if you do not take this weapon, but it is not my decision to make. Perhaps, though I doubt it, you will find some way to rise above your arduous life. Believe me, I pray that this is the case, but I have known too many people who felt the very same way. Those people are dead by their own hands, and hold a special place in my heart as the most…" I paused, tenebrous, "contemptible pieces of shit I have ever known. I don't want that to be you, Yrr." I said with confliction stirring in my heart.

I stood, leaving the box on the bench with the boy, and stormed off before he could make a phony retort.

I would sooner take your life with my own two hands then watch you take it yourself.

-----

A week later the crowd had gathered before the primary three story building of the institution. It had been snowing for five days straight, a gentle but consistent dusting. The noise of feet on the ground was almost non-existent.

"Caw! Caw!" The voice rang out above us all, crying with delirious pride.

I pushed my way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the situation. It was a spectacle. Yrr was strutting down the brick outcropping retaining wall atop the building, wearing a ridiculous suit. It was a meticulously crafted winged suit, and I mean that quite literally. Thousands upon thousands of feathers lined Yrr's arms and legs, lined and layered exactly as you might find in any other aviary creature. How many months had he been constructing it?

"Caw! Caw!" He roared, doing his best to imitate a Corvus corone and failing miserably.

There were officers on top of the building speaking to him, but what they said I could not tell over the hushed din of the crowd.

"Is he going to jump?"

"What the hell is that freak doing now?"

"Looks like Festering Crow has finally lost it."

"I hope they don't shut the school down."

"I have work to do, how long will this take?"

"Faggot is just seeking attention."

He waved something around in his hand, but from my distance I could not see it. Whatever it was it gave the police cause to retreat, for they receded back within the building hurriedly.

"That mother fucking headache…" I heard a voice in the crowd say, quite ineloquently. I turned around to look at the woman behind me, a trashy looking pleb who reeked of alcohol, in spite of it being only 10:00 in the morning. There was something familiar about her, though.

"Caw! Caw!" The masked spectacle thundered again, and resumed his march along the retaining wall.

"Yrr!" I rounded, shouting, "Remember what I told you, damnit!" What was I doing? What was I feeling? Was I angry? Disappointed? Sad?

"Hal!" He laughed from up on high. He genuinely sounded ecstatic, "So glad you could come! I made my decision!"

"Get down from there you bloody idiot!" I vociferated. People turned their gaze from the bird-man to me, now, questioning me with a menagerie of stares and unvoiced inquires.

"Hey," The woman's voice from behind me called, slurring in her intoxicated stupor, "Hey!" She laid a hand on my shoulder and I rounded, glaring at her. She simply stared back emptily and said, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm his teacher! Who the hell are you?"

I recognized it before she even voiced her words. Underneath the intense scent of booze I could perceive Yrr's musk, "I'm that little bitch's mother."

"Caw! Caw!"

"You?!" I screamed in her face. She put a hand up to shield herself from my spray of spittle, but did not seem frightened; rather she was agitated, "You're the cunt who did this?!"

She lowered her hand and pushed me with no lack of force, I took a step back and she belched in my face, "What the fuck gives you the right to criticize me, you piece of shit cock sucker? Does it look like I pushed that pussy up those stairs?" She spat on my face, and I balled a fist, "He ain't gonna jump. Little bitch isn't kind enough to get himself out of my hair, I'll tell you, dick."

"I'll kill you…" I whispered inaudibly. The crowd seemed to be shifting its attention between me and Yrr, now, and those closest to me and his mother had vacated a radius around us.

"Catch, Hal!" I heard the crow cry from up on high. I turned around once more, and saw the object in Yrr's hand flying towards me. It landed in the snow at my feet, burying itself in the .2 meter deep powder. I quickly stooped and dug around for it, dusting off a steel shaft. My fingers wrapped around it, and while I could not see it under the snow, I knew well the feel of the barrel, "I couldn't do it!" Yrr yelled. He did not sound disturbed; not aggravated, nor dejected. It was conversational speech; as though he were yelling at a dock worker from a fishing vessel.

"Yrr…" I whispered.

"Jump, Festering Crow!" Someone from the crowd shouted. Some nescient, demonic young ignoramus.

I tried to find the origin of the voice, but failed as the bird-man cawed, "Hahah! I've made my decision, Hal!" He repeated, "I'm not as strong as you, and I'm okay with that!" He spread his wings and struck a pose, preparing for a leap, "I wish you could see the beauty of the skies, my friend! Thank you so much, Hal!"

-----

The crowd screamed when the gunshot rang throughout the area. The noise was greatly muffled by the snow, the sound waves being unable to reflect appropriately, but loud enough in the immediate area to cause quite a calamity.

The crow upon the roof fell limp, and tumbled over the edge of the university. With an explosion of snow and feathers the ground became a red stain as the corpse had reached terminal velocity prior to impact. The hunter held his gun aloft, the barrel still smoking, as he stared down the fruits of his labor.

"The fuck is wrong with you…?" I heard that irritatingly familiar voice gasp behind me. I rounded on the woman, on the ground, and pulled the trigger. She cringed, but no bullet left the chamber of the single-shot pistol. I threw the weapon at her face, and she bled when the butt of the gun broke her nose. It was a cold comfort.

I fled the scene as fast as I could. No one dared follow.

-----

"You at peace?" Frulna asked innocently. Her living room had a perfect view of the university's front, being across the street and down a ways. I stared down at the bloody splotch - now with a chaotic crowd around it and police trying to maintain order - and asked myself the same question. I didn't feel anything.

"I… suppose."

"Do you regret it?"

"No." That was the honest to god's truth. I didn't feel anything, and that was… good; because it meant that I did not feel anger. It meant that I was relieved Yrr did not take his own life.

"So, what now? The whole city is after you. Something tells me you're not going to get away with three murders in one season without drawing a little attention."

"What… now?" I stared up into the sky in the distance, at the carrion crows gathering over the fresh corpse, "I live."