A Premeditated Murder
Thomas Kling was an average man who lived an average life. He had two average kids and one average ex-wife. He owned an average house and drove an average car. He had an average job, and he commuted not too far. Thomas was truly a most fortunate soul. His career had brought him enough wealth to buy whatever he needed, and more. Sure, his wife retained custody of the children, but he got to keep them every other weekend. For Thomas, that was more than enough. If you knew his children, you wouldn’t wish to see them more than four days a month either.
The one thing that Thomas could not live without was his smart phone. He always kept it close to him, living within the front right pocket of his pants when not in use. However, it was almost constantly in use. Thomas liked to stay up to date on popular culture. He listened to the newest songs, viewed the latest films, and followed along with the most popular television programs. He had all the trendy social media services and would check them continually throughout the day. He would use his phone to review the scores of his favorite sports teams, or he would read the latest breaking news. He took pictures and screenshots, he played games, and occasionally, he might even use the device for its original intended purpose, making phone calls and sending texts. Let’s not forget about the emails, which his occupation required him to respond to on a moment’s notice. Thomas held a relatively high position at his average job, and he was expected to be available twenty-four, seven. Yes, Thomas Kling’s life was inextricably tethered to his mobile phone.
The phone also served as his alarm clock. This morning, Thomas had set his alarm for six o’clock ante meridiem. This would give him plenty of time to shit, shower, and shave, with enough left over to guzzle down half a pot of coffee before shuffling off to work. He had a meeting with an important client this morning and he could not afford to be late. Thomas shut off his alarm and sat up in bed. He used his index finger to pull down his phone’s notification menu to see what he had missed while he was sleeping. He had several notifications from a number of applications, but no new emails. Good, he thought as he put the phone down on the bed and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for work.
When he returned from his shower, he checked his phone once more. An individual he had been trolling on Facebook had responded to one of his sarcastic comments. As usual, Thomas felt that he deserved to have the last word. After posting a profoundly pretentious and patronizing paragraph, he set his phone down and proceeded to choose a well-tailored blue suit from his closet. He picked out a salmon-colored button up and a striped tie that would go well with the outfit. Satisfied with his selections, he dressed himself, slid his phone into the right-hand pocket of his pants, and made his way down to the kitchen to start the coffee.
While the coffee brewed, Thomas checked the rest of his notifications, clearing his feed. Unchecked notifications gave him anxiety and he was meticulous about responding to each one. Once this was completed, he opened an internet browser and found several news articles to peruse while he drank first one and then another cup of coffee. This was the average morning routine for Thomas Kling, though this would be no average day.
As Thomas stepped out his front door and began the short jaunt to his driveway, he observed a horde of crows chatting with one another on the neighbor’s front lawn. The old woman next door insisted on feeding these filthy scavengers, despite Thomas’s objections. He held crows in the same regard as bats: vile creatures that had no reason to exist, and certainly no reason to be in the suburbs after daybreak. He hated their cooing and cawing, and their rattles and clicks. Most of all, he despised their foreboding presence, which was amplified and perpetuated in several popular superstitions. The birds squawked at Thomas as he approached his car, and he took a moment to mock them with a few squawks of his own.
“Caw,” Thomas shouted at the menacing mob of corvids. “Caw!”
The birds sensed the hostility in his voice and for a moment, they ceased their incessant chatter. While a few sentries stood firm, the others hopped backward away from the human threat. Thomas was delighted. He smiled as he pushed the button on his key fob to unlock the doors to his vehicle. It wasn’t until he reached for the driver’s side handle that he noticed the extraordinarily generous helping of bird shit caked and now streaking down his windshield.
“Fuck,” Thomas cursed. He glared at the crows as they prattled on about whatever subject birds choose to discuss. “You stupid fucking birds!”
Thomas checked his phone and found it just past seven o’clock. He still had time. He stormed back into the house to find something to clean his windshield, slamming the door behind him. When he emerged from his home, he noticed that several crows had crossed the boundary of the fence and now stood assembled in his yard. One glared at him from the sidewalk directly in front of his stoop. It cackled at him.
“You think this is funny,” Thomas screamed at the defiant bird. The crow did not flinch. Thomas marched toward the undaunted fowl, which let out one final indignant caw before being kicked squarely in the breast. The force sent the bird arching through the air until it came to rest with a thud on the curb, just shy of the street. There it lay, dead.
“How do you like that motherfucker,” he shouted at the lifeless lump of Stygian feathers lying on the ground. Thomas returned to his car where he used a wet rag to scrub the bird droppings from his windshield.
The crows sat eerily silent as one brave bird hopped over to the recently deceased. It pecked at the soulless creature as if trying to awaken it. The others patiently awaited the final assessment. The bold bird raised its beak and released a single mournful caw. The meaning was clear. The cry was echoed by another, and then another as, one by one, each crow flit over to pay their respect to the dead.
Thomas paid them no attention. A dead bird, even a murdered one, was of no importance to him. After cleaning the mess they had made of his car, he tossed the contaminated rag into a trashcan and climbed into the driver’s seat. He turned over the engine and engaged the windshield wipers to clear up the remaining white smudges. After a few shots of washer fluid, Thomas could view clearly through the protective pane of glass.
The crows had finished their impromptu funeral and now gathered in a circle around the vehicle. More birds had joined from the neighboring yard. The horde shrieked at Thomas from every direction.
Thomas ignored their squawks of grief. This was a minor inconvenience, and he was ready to be done with it. He activated his phone’s GPS, out of reflex rather than necessity, and began slowly pulling out of the driveway. As he pressed onward through the flock, several birds took flight. One landed on the hood of the car and clacked its beak at Thomas.
“Get off my car,” Thomas yelled at the bird, slamming on his brakes. The stowaway crow lost its footing. Its talons scraped against the smooth metal searching for purchase but finding none. Thomas took the opportunity to accelerate, turning out and onto the road, sending the foul fowl floundering into the street.
“Ha!” exclaimed Thomas with triumphant glee. He had no remorse. The death of a bird barely even registered as an event in his mind, much less a significant one. He cranked up the stereo and continued down the road. He soon forgot about the incident with the crows entirely, as he happily sang along with the music blasting from his car’s speaker system. Thomas was content to go about his day. But the crows would not so soon forget.
Corvids are a remarkable species, and more intelligent than one might think. They have relatively large brains, with as many neurons as some monkey species. With as much synaptic activity as a primate, they have an exceptional memory and the uncanny ability to remember individual human faces, especially if those faces are associated with a stressful situation. The murder of a family member most certainly qualified. Crows are social animals, and they live in familial groups. These crows had borne witness to their brother’s execution, and they would surely remember the face of his executioner.
Thomas turned onto the onramp and began the tedious exercise of negotiating morning traffic into the city. The highway was a river of metal and exhaust, creeping forward at a torpid pace. As Thomas drove on, he was blissfully unaware of the dark shadows tracking him from the sky. They followed his every move, gliding effortlessly through the air. Their eyes were fixed, and they were bent on revenge.
Thomas arrived in the city and maneuvered his car into his usual parking garage a few blocks from the office. He chose a convenient spot close to the stairwell and killed the engine. He checked his phone, hoping that some unwitting fool had decided to test their mettle against the blistering critique he had posted to Facebook earlier this morning. There were no replies to the post, but there were several emails that would require his immediate attention. Thomas noted that it was now a quarter ‘til eight. He knew it was about a ten-minute trek from here to the office and Thomas abhorred being late. He would have to respond to these emails on the move.
Thomas stepped out of his car and walked to the stairwell, unaware of the two crows glaring at him from the cement barrier nearby. He was preoccupied with crafting the perfect response to an urgent request from his boss. With his eyes glued to the screen, he descended two flights of stairs and stepped out to the sidewalk, turning right and walking briskly towards his place of business. Overhead, the crows circled. They had no problem identifying the murderer’s face amongst the dense crowd of strangers bustling around him on the busy sidewalk.
This was a common route for Thomas. He walked this street nearly every day and he could probably do it blindfolded. He didn’t even need to look up at the intersections. He was conditioned to stop at the crosswalks and wait for the pleasant, trilling chirps that indicated when it was safe to cross. This feature was designed to assist the visually impaired, but it was also well-suited to those who refused to remove their noses from their screens. Thomas was able to finish his first email and cross the first intersection, his gaze never leaving his phone.
If he had looked up, he may have noticed the birds that roosted all around him. There were many crows in the city, and they clustered together to witness the spectacle unfolding below. They were in the trees and on power lines, rooftops, and billboards. They settled on fire escapes, windowsills, and awnings. They called out to one another as Thomas passed. Most striking of all was a single, lonely crow perched silently on the next crosswalk signal, patiently biding its time.
Thomas never looked up from his phone. He could see the feet of those around him coming to a stop and so he slowed too. Deep in concentration, Thomas tried to find the best words to explain to a potential client why they should choose his company for all their advertising needs. His feet waited patiently before the painted curb. Then he heard it, the cheerful, rhythmic chirping of the ‘walk’ sign. Without looking, Thomas stepped off the curb and strode confidently into the intersection.
At this moment, Thomas was struck by a bolt of inspiration. Our innovative, trusted, and results-driven team delivers unparalleled, comprehensive advertising solutions, making us the premier partner to elevate your brand and achieve measurable success. It’s perfect, he thought to himself as he finished typing the words. Pleased with his own savvy, Thomas looked up and spotted the bird: his personal harbinger of death. The crow chirped at him pleasantly from its perch above the glowing red hand of the crossing signal. It was a flawless display of mimicry. Thomas had a single fleeting moment to realize his own arrogance, but the crows held no regard to regret.
The city bus was not speeding that morning. The driver was a devout follower of all the rules of the road. When the man in the blue suit stepped into the crosswalk directly in his path, he had stood fully on his brakes. There just wasn’t enough time to stop.
The bus collided with Thomas and hurled him through the air. His body flew ten feet before it knew it was dead. His cell phone shattered on the pavement a few inches away from his fractured, hemorrhaging skull. Traffic stopped. People stopped. One good Samaritan attempted to help, but it would all be in vain. Thomas Kling had sent his last email.
The crow on the crossing signal released one final chirp before alighting to join its friends on a nearby ledge. They cackled back and forth in celebration. They had witnessed it all – the cruel act, the indifference, the death. Thomas Kling was just another fading figure in their world. Just another creature caught in the unforgiving cycle of nature’s judgement. Justice had been served.
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