[Durelin]

Flapping wings excitedly, the black, smaller than a cat but bigger than some breadboxes form hopped around a lonely read container adorned with a golden 'M' which bore something he knew to be very tasty. Bringing his beak down with a snap he snatched up a long, mushy piece to munch on, half of it sticking out and up from his beak. He frequented this area often, knowing that many a delightful treat could be found on the pavement. Sometimes he would be forced to flee, whether another gang came by, or if other larger animals chased him away. Then he might perch up in a nearby tree to wait for the chance to finish his meal, or, if he was feeling bolder, he might venture towards a house, to see what he might find around it.

A flash of headlights and a low growling of engines sent him bounding off onto the sidewalk and into a yard as he used a combination of his thin, ungainly legs and his slightly less ungainly wings to propel himself away from danger. Each time he did it with less and less enthusiasm, understanding more and more that as long as he was out of the way, he was safe. But by the time he had slowed to a bobbing strut through the grass, he had forgotten the potatoe-y treat he had found in the road, and now made his way slowly toward the house, his head twisting restlessly from side to side at every noise he heard.

Suddenly he caught sight of a familiar figure: sleek black feathers, long pointed beak, beady black eyes on either side of the head, long spindly legs... He froze and observed it, standing as motionless as it did near the front door of the house, seated atop a large, round orange thing that triggered his desire to eat. But he would have to watch this one that seemed to have already claimed the orange ball for himself. Slowly the feathered being approached the similar feathered being, sizing it up as he did. It was smaller than he, and the fact that it did not note his presence made him feel it was too weak to attack him.

With a giant leap and a screech, with much flapping and jolting, he shot himself at the creature who had claimed the small orange mountain, feet first. His enemy fell to the ground with his feet, and after a bit of pecking and clawing, he was fairly sure it was not going to attack him. So, immediately claiming triumph, he turned on the orange object that seemed to glare at him. An aroma that translated to food filled the air around him, and so he plunged his beak into the thick skin, poking with a moist thud in order to get at the inside, which he knew was the best part. The fact that it was strangely warm was not a feeling that registered in his mind. A crow could comprehend the science behind a Jack o’ lantern even less than the confounded technology of plastic and fake feathers.