Out Of The Green, A Conspiracy

A wide span of lush grass covered the playground, soon to be a battleground. All around it towered the pillars of nature, brown bods with paradise-green crowns. As the evening sky buried the sun, something began to materialise on this abandoned stage. Four-winged beasts, stained soot black, stood over the grass facing three chirruping slight sparrows. An unusual sight, I thought, for no crow comes down where the two-legged creature plays. Curiosity etching, I began to scan the landscape. The sparrows continued “talking” to the intent crows; but the trees caught most of my attention: they stood too still; statue-like. 

Suddenly out of this green, more cawing blackbirds swooped down as I watched from an elevated abode: a small bleacher next to my boarding house. They too stationed themselves with the small camp on the grass; all along the sparrows prattled on. As I strained to unravel this strange event, a worrying conviction screened my mind. The blathering sparrows no longer looked slight to me. Their “speech” were orders to the attentive crows whose bowed heads and surprising silence expressed an epitome of discipline; they were the terrific stormtroopers submitting to the commands of their Nazi superiors. 

I could not wait any longer. I dashed down the steps of the bleacher and headed quietly towards the grassy plot. The hitherto mute crows, cawed at my arrival, their grievous eyes piercing through my very soul. That instant I thought I heard the sound of death. The sparrows stepped aside as the “troopers” took centre stage. One flew away. Away, I presumed. I looked up to find it making a clear trajectory; I looked on and spotted two more do the same. Then realisation dawned a minute too late. Three crows circled above my head, like fighter planes, as I took in the grave situation. The next move would be an attack, I was sure, for the malicious eyes of the on-looking sparrows told me so. Therefore, like the miserable Jew escaping his subjugation, I fled from the ground straight into my dormitory, never once looking back to see if the air force followed. 

Finally controlling my racing mind and hammering heart, I spied on from my dorm window. The jet-black planes had landed, the troops had been reorganised, defensive this time. And, as darkness began to take over the topography, the chirrups of the superior commanders, now bolder and louder, echoed the sounds of a conspiracy. 

The intonation seemed to suggest an apparent message: it’s time wings took over arms and claws replaced legs; it’s time beaks supplanted mouths and bird-music deposed loathsome linguistics; it’s time they are shot down while we soar up. It’s time for us to be Rulers; its time for them to be Ruled.

The crows cawed on as the sound of fluttering wings resounded all around me.