The day came when human intelligence was captured and tweaked until it fit onto a microchip which was then slipped inside a bird’s brain. The governing lords wanted eyes and ears flying discreetly through the skies, to prevent any uprisings and bear witness to all crimes.
These were common birds of all colors and species. Ducks let out a quack that would send the children running. The lords provided an increase in bread, but then the crows swooped down to snatch it up into their greedy beaks. One woman held back tears in a steely resolve to right the natural order of the world.
No commoner had weapons, for they were taken long ago. It all transpired on a blood moon – black magic. While the moon was robbed of its soft, white light, the cities lost all their protection. The villagers awakened to find themselves defenseless while a great army hovered atop a green hill.
Years later, Evelyn, a soldier’s widow, walked across a sandy beach, upon a path lined with small rocks that glistened as stars, in the dim light of an aging moon. The air was thick and the breeze carried it well. It was eleven minutes after the eleventh hour when she took one long swig from a small silver canister. She then bent to her knees and plunged her hands into the sand. Her pineal gland was pulsing and her third eye blinked in awareness.
A flock of crows landed around her, for it was dark and they were curious. Evelyn’s red hair rippled in waves about her face, concealing a smile on that fateful night. One crow, who’d named himself Drake, inquired of her business.
Drake’s words came out in cackles, but Evelyn was taught the language as a child. Of course the birds were programmed to comprehend all language, but they were stunned at her reply. She sang a song in an ancient tongue, one that tickled their small minds until they squawked for her to stop. Hebrew, Greek and Latin tangled in broken chords. The gematria of the words summed 666 with every lyrical verse. The crows wanted to deem her a witch, but assumed all witches extinct. The Enlightened had promised. Evelyn sang on, all the while pouring sand over her bare feet and legs until it blanketed half her body.
The crows took flight, unnerved by this silly girl, no older than twenty, but with a voice that haunted all time. Then Drake paused mid-air at the sound of his name.
He returned with his crew and landed in a circle around Evelyn. She bent her knees up, breaking the shallow mound that had once covered them. Then she stood and with a handful of sand and let it slide slowly between her white fingers. “The lords will bury you here.”
Drake’s beady eyes stared. “We are gods,” he declared. “Our brains are immortal, they’ll be transplanted into a baby chick when the time is right. You, on the other hand, will die.”
“You are not so immortal,” Evelyn replied sharply. “The baby chicks are a dying lot, the lords have seen to that,” she said. To prove her point, she walked over near a great tree, where the soil was still damp. There she clawed away at a section of land encircled by tiny stones. It didn’t take long before she unearthed the carcass of a baby chick.
“One out of every thousand of you may be renewed,” she exclaimed. “But the lords will control the population. It is a fact that you won’t all make it.”
The crows looked warily at one another as their brains tried to think on their own.
Three years passed before the crows were found dead in record numbers – either by flying into glass buildings or colliding in mid-air. The lords blamed the avian flu, but on further investigation the people discovered the crows were drunk off wild, fermented berries. Rumors spread quickly. Many said they’d been poisoned.
The rebellion finally came when the Monarch butterflies were summoned. At precisely 11:11 am, the crows’ brains, discarded without thought, were dug up from the sandy beach, microchips retrieved, and mounted atop the Monarchs. The technology came alive, as the Monarchs flapped their wings in the wind. There was an array of orange and black when they circled and swarmed on the hills. The event took place on the 33rd parallel while the sun gazed down with its omnipotent, singular eye.
And that is how it came to be, the lords lost their land to butterflies.
Photo by Tricia Sankey