First Customer

            Finally, Murray had achieved his dream. His own business. He stood in the middle of the display room, his hands on his hips surveying everything around him. An outdoorsman’s store. What a great idea going into business doing something he loved! He’d done it before his self-imposed age limit of thirty-five.

            He checked his watch. 9:41. Less than a half hour before opening. Murray felt his excitement bubbling up inside.  He tried not to worry about customers. Just a mile away from the business district and he didn’t have the rent they did, he had the best of both worlds. Everything was in order. Everything was right.

            He looked over to the large plate glass window to the street outside. His store was on the corner at a traffic light. Plenty of passersby would see ‘Mr. Outdoors’ on a modestly sized sign outside while stopped at the light. Murray had built it. They would come. He even had outdoor displays and a medium-sized water dispenser with conically-shaped paper cups.

            A cool drink of water. Murray was walking toward the dispenser when he spotted a black bird light on the wooden corner fence outside. Its darting head seemed to take in the whole store.

A jolt of anxiety buzzed through Murray. He began alternately touching random objects, smoothing down his shirt and tie, and flicking his keys and wallet through the outside of his pants pockets. His mother had always said those birds were a bad sign and even though he had dismissed her superstitions years ago, this one snuck back into his mind. 

            What is it? he thought, dragging his forearm across his slick forehead.  A raven? A crow? He didn’t know how to tell. He clenched his hands into tight fists, holding them stiffly at his sides. When he opened them they were glossy with sweat, white nail crescents embedded in his palms. He smoothed his hands down his shirt again.

            “It’s fine,” he muttered to himself, plying his tongue from the roof of his mouth.  Murray curled his hands back into balls, drawing away from the dispenser. His voice took on a singsong quality.  “I’ll just shoo him away and everything’s fine. Just fine.” His tie felt a little tight and he wrenched it around. Murray wondered how the striped clip-on looked with his plaid shirt. He’d check his appearance again once he got back inside.

            “Caw!” it said as he walked away from the water dispenser and stepped through the door. The sky was cloudy and the air thick, but the weatherman had said it would clear up sometime around noon.

“Hey! Shoo!” he shouted. It cocked its head as if to say, ‘Who, me?’ but did not move.

            He checked his watch again. 9:45. Fifteen minutes! Panic seized him and he heard his fingernails combing down the faux wood paneling. Everything had to be right or they wouldn’t come. Murray’s throat wrenched up and down against sandpaper when he tried swallowing. He cawed at the top of his lungs to frighten the bird away, but it ignored him, hopping a semi-circle around a nearby tent.

            In a moment of desperation, Murray picked up a rock and chucked it. It struck the fence on the opposite side of where the bird was but it paid no attention, pecking at some sleeping bags.

 

 

 

            Murray picked up another and gave his best wind up and pitched! hitting the bird square in its chest as it stood by a neat pile of firewood. It squawked, taking flight and leaving behind a few black feathers.

            Murray threw his arms in the air, laughing and did a dance of relief back into the store. Now he could have that celebratory cup of water. More like three or four. No sooner had the door shut behind him than he heard another “Caw!”

            Angry, he turned and charged back through the door. Part of him wanted to grab his bow and arrow and shoot it, but an ugly part felt only bare hands were appropriate. The bird was still circling the same tent. It looked up at him and back to the tent as he raced in its direction.

            Murray imagined stomping on the bird if it didn’t fly away first.  He didn’t notice the display of rocks he’d laid the night before and tripped, impaling himself on a stake when he fell. All other thought was blotted out as pain radiated from the wound throughout his body. His arms and legs scissored and clawed, battling the ground. Murray made grunting noises from his nose, his mouth working in silence as he struggled to get air into a lung that wasn’t punctured.

            Finally, he lay still. Murray listened to his faint breathing and heard the thick sucking sound coming from underneath him. He could feel the bird’s eyes on him, could hear it hopping its way closer. It pecked his scalp two quick times and continued towards the shop entrance.

            The sky sighed with falling rain and a moment later droplets of cold were stinging him. There was a belch of thunder and a moment later Murray was covered in a blanket of wet. He wished he could turn over and drink or at least quench the burning in his chest. The gravel against his lips was semi-moist. He began to lick it. Murray could see his useless arm where it had stopped with his watch facing him. It was 9:58.

 

Reviews

[.:Naiira Harlow:.]

I like it! An overly excited man who just happens to have a gruesome and accidental death from trying to get rid of some unimportant bird. Well done!
-Twilight

[TJ Graham]

Holy crap!...This is good, an ending I did not expect, and great title!