The average lifespan of a fox is three to five years. Thanks to corrective lenses, this fox is twelve years young.
The tired old fox glanced back long enough to see a volt of vultures swoop downwards, resembling northerly winds rapidly moving south on a meteorological map. It paused to weep a single tear for the fallen comrades it had run with for the last eight months, but it is difficult to argue that they deserved their fates. It is cruel how the stamina of youth is wasted on impetuous fools.
The aerial viewpoint from the crow’s rear end as it flew to the side of a human being tripping and freaking hard on peyote and ‘shrooms.
A black feather from a passing crow was falling to the ground. A skulk of starving foxes looked up in unison as if their senses were networked through a single Wi-fi hotspot. The collective growling of their stomachs made the ground beneath them rumble. So much so, one fox inadvertently shook loose a lint dookie from its barely used foxhole. In normal times, it would have been ridiculed for such indecency, but today, in desperate times of exorbitant hunger, shame has been eradicated, and thus they proceeded.
To think, my disdain for the overrated Russell Crowe nearly dissolved my allegiance to the mighty lustrous species of the crow.
The crow had flown for four long non-stop days at the beckoning of an urgent call from the spirits of nature. Its once steady flapping wings reduced to erratic near-floundering spastic thrusts. During this mockery of flight, a solitary black wing detached itself from the crow and fell to earth.