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Through the smooth path of the dry riverbed, I approach the desolation. The murder’s caws grow, the cacophony of their unending squabble over the corpses. Slowly, ever slower, I draw near the upcoming bend, grinding my teeth at every step.

Pulling my collar over to my nose, I round the obstructing turn. Fallen into the ditch is an inverted corpse, its back against the canyon wall of the dry riverbed, the limbs sprawled, contorted in broken, misshapen angles. A frenzy of beetles move in and out of its flesh, their circling hoards like worshipers circumnavigating an idolatrous stone. Black fluid drips from it, running together into little streams, a weave-work of dead blood conglomerating into a small reflective puddle.

One crow alights upon the husk, its weight shifting the body in a cascade of dust. The bird’s wings flap wildly as around it the earth’s pebbles rain. Leaping from the unsure perch, the fowl comes beside the head of the corpse. Strutting closer to its intended meal, the carrion inserts its head into the mouth of the dead man.

Horrified, I stare transfixed as the creature jerks and pulls, tearing the swollen tongue free of the corpse. Walking away with its prize, it drops the black flesh into the dust and steps upon it. With one claw anchoring its meat, the crow strips the putrid mass into manageable bites, pecking at its feast until all is consumed.

Then placing its beady, monochrome eye upon me, it shouts, “Murder!”