Maybelline and Victor were burying a little dead frog in the orange grove behind Cousin Joe’s water-stained bungalow, when suddenly a bird fell out of the sky and landed next to the burial site, just as dead as the frog.
It hit the dirt with a soft thud. If burying wasn’t such a reverent act, and they had been doing something louder, they might not have heard it at all. Just the cicadas, and a passing train or two. Joe clinking around in the garage.
Victor leaned over to it to get a good look. It was a large crow, with glassy blue eyes and glossy black feathers. He poked at it with a stick, and it didn’t move.
He leaned closer. Maybelline watched with her eyes squinted in curiosity. Was the bird really dead?
She poked it too.
Victor leaned it yet even further. He was nearly kissing it.
He screamed in the dead bird’s face.
It didn’t bring anyone back to life.
It never does.
They buried it next to the frog, and went inside to ask Joe to tell them a story about better days.