NO, not that one...

Perhaps it is nothing more than the wind itself.
The subtle scent upon the gentle wisps that caress my sniffled senses.
How long have I longed with such longing largess lingering…

“Oh, what utter crap!” Said Stanley while staring into his open hands, which shook before the old typewriter before him. “Why do I tease myself into believing my feeble attempts are more than they are?”

Rising from the chair and beginning to pace back and forth in the grand library in his home, he gazed upon row after row of leather-bound envies that few could ever obtain in one lifetime. “Such wondrous emotions poured from the ink stained hearts of all these writers, these books are not simply a testament to the human mind, they are also a window into the greater unknown that began all of us.” Just as Stanley was pondering the percolating thoughts within his sentence he noticed the brilliant ray of the setting sun that now welcomed itself through his opened window. Suddenly Stanley became acutely aware that the sun was not the only thing that had let itself in through his open window.

He stared across the room in wide-eyed disbelief. Upon the upper right portion of his leather wingback chair, the very chair he was sitting in mere moments ago, was perched the most magnificent raven he had ever seen. The raven had eyes that seemed to have a sense of knowledge far beyond perception, while the black it wore was far more than simply black, as it changed colour with each newly viewed angle.

Stanley found himself staring into the eyes a bit longer than he would have intended and probably would have continued if not for the interruption.

“Waiting for me to ‘quoth’ something or shall we disperse with the rude staring and move along?” Spoke the raven in a calm and soothing tone with a gentle and deep timbre that commanded attention.

Stanley found himself suddenly staring into a different sort of black and when he came to the raven was perched upon his chest looking at him. “Had a bad fall there my friend. I truly cannot say that I blame you; I practically did the same thing when I discovered your kind could speak. Although I must admit it took me many years to decipher the drivel you human-folk call language; Ironic really, considering that I am the so-called animal.” With that remark the raven gave a quick caw/laugh and perched back upon the chair.

Finding his feet again, Stanley tried desperately to also find his words.

“What are you…well, I know WHAT you are but…how, well…how is it you are speaking to me? Why me?” He addressed the raven finally.

The raven straightened a bit and shook his feathers gently. “Sir, I am able to speak by the design of the hand who has allowed you to do the same. Sin is an ever-encroaching presence upon all of us you know. As for the ‘why you’ portion, I was simply flying by your window and happened to hear you berating yourself. So, I thought I would pay you a visit, you know a little Poe-esque moment if you will; worked once, sort of.” With that the bird let out another caw/laugh.

“You mean that YOU are the raven in Poe’s writing?!” Stanley said, almost shouting in excitement.

The raven tilted his head slightly. “Right lineage, wrong raven.” Stretching his wings out and then back to rest, the raven then spoke again. “You see that was Granddad. He was great, even taught me how to catch on to what you guys call speaking. Back in the day he found himself in a hallway after accidentally flying in through an open window. Unfortunately for him his eyesight was not what it used to be and it was dark out, so he found himself bumping into many things while trying to locate the same window he entered. He could hear a voice on the other side of where he kept banging and he remembers having fun, at the man’s expense, by yelling out “never whore” in response each time. Granddad was rather odd and had a foul mouth, especially when angered, and as you could imagine flying around blindly was not a great event for happiness.” The raven stopped speaking for a moment as he spotted a water glass on the table across from him and quickly flew across the room and landed beside it. “Would you be a friend and pour a little of that out so that I may have some, unfortunately this story has me parched and I am clearly not designed for drinking from this device.”

Stanley walked over and poured the water into a shallow, decorative bowl and placed it down in front of the raven. “Thank you.” Spoke the raven and began drinking. When he had finished he again went back to his perch upon the chair. “So, where was I?”

“You’re FOWL-mouthed Grandfather.” Said Stanley with a smirk.

“Oh, funny…between your comedy and your poetry I am not sure which one is more hilarious.” The raven let out a huge caw/laugh and fell right off his perch into the seat of the chair and rolled about, wings flapping. Once he regained his composure, he alighted upon the back of the chair again. “Sorry, I usually do not lose self-control like that, but I find when the moment strikes it is grandly freeing and better than most anything else in this wonderful world. Anyway, as I was saying earlier, after much flying about and cursing, suddenly a great light appeared when the man opened the door to his room. Granddad now could see he had flown away from wherever he came in and could not see any window near him, however he could see into the room and there was a window there. He figured that the man would want him gone and open the window for him to fly out, so he flew into the room. What Granddad did not know was how whacked out on opiates this man was. Needless to say, Granddad never went out at night again!”

“Wait a minute, are you serious?” Stanley was beginning to get a bit annoyed at what he felt was simply a story.

“Do you think I would take several years of my life just to learn how to converse lies to a human?” The raven suddenly stopped and cawed/laughed again, almost to himself. “Actually, that does sound a bit fun.”

“So, are you here to make me write like Poe!” Stanley exclaimed, far more excitedly than even he anticipated.

“Why would I do something like that to you? Sheesh, you actually have a talent we can focus on. That Poe guy is nothing to envy, especially when I tell you just how many members of my family had ‘interventions’ into his writing, especially my Uncle Usher.” Said the raven shaking his head. “Long story.”

“Alright then how do we make me a famous poet?” Said Stanley.

“Well, I could kill you.” The raven cawed again. “Let’s sit down and talk things out, before tomorrow morning, you should have a better appreciation of yourself. After that, it all falls into place. Or I could go back to that killing you thing, after all the one thing that keeps money from being in an artists wallet is most often the air within his lungs.” With that the raven laughed again.














-j.g.smith (08/29/07)