Not his miserable little life, but a rusty tin can flashed before his eyes. As the can drifted by, it was glistering, as it slowly turned on its axis. He could have read the faded text on the weathered label: “Sardines in Oil with Lemon Slice.” He could have, if he had learned to read. The wind howled fiercely through his hair while his hungry gaze was fixed on the feast before him.
Close … so close.
Finally, something other than dead insects and larvae, which he had to pick from the cracks between the ruins of collapsed buildings with an old pair of tweezers. He wanted to grab it and hold it close to him one last time. And he could have, if only his arm weren’t trapped. He looked at his arm and saw a set of teeth biting into it, with two bony hands gripping his arm on either side and two hollow, bloodshot eyes above the teeth glaring at him. Trailing behind his arm was a thin red stream like a ribbon in the wind. He felt no pain from the teeth biting into his arm, and he quickly turned his head back toward the floating can. He stared at it hungrily and hopefully.
Close … so close.
Fifteen minutes earlier, he had run harder than he ever had before. Four others followed him, shouting over one another: “Stop!” “Give me!” “Yummy mine!”
The man tore up the stairwell like a man possessed. Floor after floor, higher and higher, he ran as fast as he could. He grew slower and slower as exhaustion filled his already weak muscles, until he finally reached the top floor. At the top, he ran through the opening where a door to the roof had once been. He burst through it and fled onto the rooftop, desperately searching for a way out. At the edge, he stopped and turned around. He held the can high above his head and screamed, “Mines! Not yours! Mines!”
While he was gasping for air, the four skeletal pursuers stormed onto the roof after him, pulling and fighting among themselves as they rushed toward him. The first one to reach him jumped for the can. The others jumped after him, and all five of them went over the edge. He lost his grip on the can, and it flew out of his hand.
They kept their eyes on the shiny tin can as they wildly flailed their arms and legs in a futile attempt to slow their fall.
Close … oh so close.
A few days later, a flock of crows had eaten the flesh from the bones of the five bodies lying on the ground, leaving only their skeletons. Among the five picked-clean skeletons lay the dented sardine can. One crow walked over, picked up the can in its beak, carried it away, took off and flew to the high-rise building. The other crows followed, and they all landed on the ledge of a high-rise building.
When they heard a group of people approaching, one crow picked up the can in its beak, circled above, and dropped the can between them and the high-rise building. The people below immediately began fighting over the can, and one of them escaped, running into the building with the can in his hand and the others close behind him.
Patiently, the flock of crows circled overhead.
A feast was close … so close.
