Moving On Again

Moving On Again

Rider Monte woke up to the itch. He got up, showered and dressed. His hair still streaming water, he packed his saddlebags and ran out of the hotel room.

Leaving the key on the counter in front of the dozing clerk, he raced out to his bike. Firing it up, he headed out to nowhere in particular. The hot wind dried his hair.

He began to look around himself. Hearing a raucous call, he squinted upward. A crow was keeping pace with him.

“I don’t usually go as the crow flies, but why not?”

He was born with itchy feet like his daddy, or so his mom claimed. He never stayed in one place long. He became restless quickly. When that happened, he had to be moving on.

“What are you doing, you crazy bird!” he shouted up at the crow as it flew straight into the sun.

Rider shrugged and gunned the engine to keep the bird in sight. Mile upon mile rolled by. Eventually, he noticed the bird circling up ahead.

“Must be some roadkill,” the drifter decided. Reluctantly, he slowed down.

“I’ve only slid in animal guts once and that was enough! I near killed myself!”

To his chagrin, he came to the unexpected. It was what he called a four tined fork. The usual two parts branched out twice.

The crow continued to circle. Rider pulled over and dismounted. Amazingly, the crow came down and landed on his shoulder. They stared ahead.

“So, Edgar Allen, what do you think?”

The crow let loose with a series of caws, each louder than the last. Rider listened. Returning to his bike, he got on and headed into the sun, the crow on his shoulder. They took the fourth road because it had the best echo.

300 WORDS DAILY FLASH 1/31/2023