Eyes are the window to the soul

It was a day like any other, at least in October. The first light of the day was spilling over and hitting the windows of the huge glass buildings surrounding the parking lot I was approaching. After it reflected from the windows, it would brush the edges of parked cars with that pale morning light that never inspired happiness in me. The air was newly made, fragile and tinged with the chill unique to autumn mornings in the Mediterranean — sharp enough to sting the lungs, yet still warm enough to be refreshing after the long summer. Everything felt suspended, and you could only hear the faint buzzing of cars and the shrieking of birds. Occasionally, a distant siren would wail, fading as quickly as it came, adding a fleeting note of humanity to the stillness.

Were it not for the bus I knew would arrive soon, the lot would remain timeless — a pause between breaths. Soon, latecomers’ footsteps would echo between the cars, doors would slam, and the day would begin in earnest. But for now, at seven in the morning, the parking lot remained silent; those that needed to be at work were already there, and others were rushing to get there.

My breathing was heavy in the cold morning air as I hurried across that parking lot and my shoes were crunching against sand and gravel, each step resonating in the quiet expanse. The bus would be pulling up soon, and I had no intention of waiting twenty or so minutes for another one. The rows of parked cars were looming on either side of me like lazy spectators, mocking me silently for having to rush somewhere.

As I passed one such row of cars, my eyes caught a flicker of movement — a crow perched atop a black Mercedes. The bird’s head tilted ever so slightly, its dark gaze meeting mine with uncanny precision — for just a second. For that heartbeat, everything, including myself, slowed; the sound of the world dimmed, and a strange weight pressed against my chest. Judgment, I felt. But the hiss of distant brakes snapped me back to the moment and reminded me that I had a bus to catch. I passed the car without another glance.

The sharp cry of the crow split the quiet just after, and it made me flinch. I continued forward, refusing the instinct to turn my head. Before I even took another step, something grazed the top of my head. It was sharp enough to sting — like being grazed by a twig when running through a forest. I blinked, and automatically one of my hands flew to my scalp. There was no blood, but the dull ache lingered behind.

The crow was suddenly in front of me again. This time on the hood of a white Renault Clio a few meters ahead. It perched there, motionless again, watching me with that same unwavering stare.

My blood rushed around and my limbs froze. The parking lot felt huge and never emptier and I tought, "Stupid bird. Should have updated her radar and drunk her morning coffe." For a moment, I wanted to chase it away, but then I remembered the bus. The bird didn’t move, didn’t blink. I shook my head and kept walking.

The world seemed to hold its breath as I was leaving. Even the hum of traffic faded away. My footsteps softened as I tried to listen for the height-challenged bird. I muted everything else in my ears and the vacuum I created pressed in on my ears and I heard nothing else. The lot was endless as I tried to just pass it and get away from the bird.

Then, without the warning sound, the cursed shadow slipped across my shoulder — swift, silent, and impossibly close. I felt the rush of air before I understood what was happening. The bird came from behind, once again. Its wing brushed the side of my head, and in the same instant my glasses flew off, spinning in an impossible arc before hitting the ground.

For a moment, I just stood there. The world was a blur. I could barely make out the dark shape of the crow as it settled a few meters ahead on yet another car. The silence still there, heavier now. I bent down slowly, fingers brushing the cold concrete as I found the frames. They were intact, lenses glinting faintly in the dim morning light.

My blood rushed around and my limbs froze, once again. The parking lot felt huge and never emptier, once again. I frantically looked around and wondered, "Did anyone else see that?" No one was there, except me and the accursed bird. I stared at the bird. The bird didn’t move, didn’t blink. I almost went towards it, but I shook my head and decided I should keep on walking.

After the blind staredown with the bird, I turned and kept walking, forcing my steps into something steady. I slipped the glasses back on and straightened. The lot was endless as I tried to just pass it and get away from the bird, once again. The silence that was all around cracked with a harsh, rasping caw that echoed through the parking lot. Then there was another one like shaking laughter. I didn’t look back. I just walked faster wanting to leave the crow’s mocking cries.

Paranoia gripped me and when I heard the whisper of wings cutting through the air, I tought I was imagining it. But it grew clearer and closer. My shoulders tensed. I didn’t turn. I knew what was coming before it happened. Instinct took over. I ducked low just as a dark shape swept past the space where my head had been. The movement was so sharp and instictive that I got dizzy as I lifted my gaze. The crow circled once, wings spread wide and then purposefully setteled on the black car parked there in front of me.

We locked eyes and I knew no more.