There was a time in my life when I used to be afraid of birds. Flocks of ravens in particular. When I was 17, a friend was in a deadly car accident. On a late Friday night, he drove his VW Bug into a tree. Trevor was pronounced dead on the scene and was found with a balloon hanging from his mouth. As I turned the corner onto his street that evening, I had no idea what I scene I was going to come upon. There was an fire truck, and an ambulance parked in the middle of the road. Red lights were flashing and amongst the chaos, I saw his crumpled up VW. I thought to myself “Is that Trev? No, it couldn’t be.” I got of my car and started to run over when a policeman stopped me. I tried to get by him, but he just grabbed me and told me which hospital Trevor was taken to.
The next few hours were a blur. The sun had started to rise when I finally left the hospital. I looked up and there were hundreds of ravens flying through the air. I always knew I would have a beautiful life, but I think of Trevor often. Funny how when death confronts you, some fears seems to fade away.