by Jelena Vencl Ohlrogge
A svelte, still body and a Rorschach test motive painted on the pavement. Bloodblot. That is all he sees from his balcony on the third floor.
She might be alive. Panic takes over for a moment. No, no movement. But, surprisingly little blood. He turns away and shuts his eyes.
She bled so much, so easily. Quite annoying, but she did clean after. He disliked shambles. And what now; he'll have to clean the crap. He banged her head against the bath tub; a little bit against the sink. That should not have created much mess. She weighed close to nothing but became heavy as a rock when rendered unconscious. He dragged her to the balcony and sent her over the edge.
His eyes are still shut. And then it strikes him. The sound. He does not remember the sound of her body hitting the pavement. He jumps, looks over the edge. No, the body is not there. He still sees the bloodblot but it is lighter, translucent.
He hears a flap of wings and lifts his head. A crow. Glistens blue in the fading light. Their eyes meet and he knows. His breathing stops. The crow circles above him, never loses eye contact.
His heart skips a beat just before his own flight is over and the pristine concrete meets his body with a bone splitting, blood sprinkling embrace of death.
The crow arches her wings gracefully, shakes off the invisible sorrows of yesterdays and flies away.