Strange things were happening lately, and Johnathan found it rather annoying.

First was the incident at the fair: Some lunatic had opened fire on a crowd during the raffle. Luckily, Johnathan and his pals had been busying themselves with a couple of ticket girls behind the fair grounds. It wasn't until after it was all over and the boys were zipping their pants that they even knew what happened. The psycho, whoever he was, was gunned down by the police. The papers ran a story, and then it was if it never even happened. Soon everything went back to normal. At least for a little while.

Then the birds started going missing.

At first, no one could quite put their finger on it. Something was off. Some part of their day-to-day lives just didn't seem right, as if someone had turned off the background music to the moving picture. Slowly, everyone began to figure it out: The Birds, they whispered, The Birds are gone. Simple as that. Vanished. And no one had the first clue as to why. "Could've migrated down to the mainland," his father said over breakfast one morning, "Lord knows why..." Johnathan didn't care one way or the other. What did it matter to him where the things decided to shit? It was one less nuisance to deal with. Either way, he wasn't going to let it bother him. He had better things to do. Pulling on his coat and hat he checked himself once, twice in the mirror, and stepped out.

For once it was cold and gray outside. Johnathan snorted; Even The-Greatest-City-In-The-World hadn't managed to avoid a few rain clouds it seemed. No matter, his business was with the lads at the Blue Ribbon. All of the recent annoyances had put him in need of a drink. His steps echoed off of the cobbled streets as he hurried down the lane to the restaurant. The cold was oppressive, sinking in through his coat and gripping to his ribs. He pulled his collar up and folded his arms, quickening his pace. For the life of him he couldn't shake the horrible feeling that he was being followed. He kept glancing things out of the corner of his eye. Black shapes creeping at the edge of his vision. But every time he turned to look there was nothing there. Nothing but shadows.

The boys didn't have his drink waiting for him like usual, which annoyed him. Everyone seemed to be trying his patience today. He sat down at the bar and looked at them with a smile warmer than the sun. "Evening gents!" His voice rang clearer than a church bell. "Barkeep, one scotch please" he said, giving them a wink, "Neat."

The boys didn't say a word. They knew to just sit and listen, staring into their glasses. That's the way Johnathan liked them best. He found that when they had something to to say, it wasn't worth hearing. And they certainly didn't want to make him angry. Not Johnathan.

"So," he said, clapping one of them hard on the back, "Have I got a real gut-buster for you boys! So I'm rolling on down to Amelia's the other day-" he stopped, staring into the long mirror that ran the length of the bar. There was someone outside, watching him through the window.

He turned. No one.

"So...so I'm going to Amelia's the other day..." He forgot what he was going to say, then remembered, then decided he didn't care about telling the story anymore. Instead he said nothing, staring into his glass. With a flick of his wrist, he threw back his scotch, pulled on his coat, grabbed his hat and walked out the door.

"You okay Johnny?" one of them said. Stan, maybe. He didn't care; after a while they all begin to sound the same. He didn't find a single person on the streets. It looked as though it could start raining any minute, so he ducked through an alley for a shortcut. Reaching into his jacket he drew out a flask of Bucking Bronco and drained it, just in case. With all of the strange happenings recently, he couldn't be too careful.
"Hello, Johnathan" came a voice from behind him. He spun around and snapped his fingers, sending a wave of energy blasting down the alley. The air was hung full of trashcans, boxes, bottles... but there was no one there.
"Behind you."
Johnathan whipped his arm around, sending another frantic blast in the opposite direction. No one.
"No, behind you."
He had had enough. The alley flew apart on either side of him as he blasted wave after wave in all directions, tilting the world upside down until everything was frozen in the air around him, like a dream. Now he heard footsteps. Someone was moving toward him. The garbage hanging in the air blocked his vision, he could only catch glimpses of movement. Any second now they would be upon him. He pushed as hard as he could, but the Bucking Bronco had worn off. Gravity took hold of the world, and everything came crashing back down. Johnathan looked back and forth, but there was no one there. He was alone.
"Up here," said the voice above his head. He looked up, and his brain couldn't quite understand what it was seeing. There above him, hanging by his knees from the fire escape was Crowley... and he wasn't alone. He was surrounded by crows. Hundreds of them, perched on the rooftops, the windowsills, the clothes lines... none of them making a sound. It looked as though the sky was being eaten by black birds, and there was Crowley in the middle of it all...grinning and dangling from the fire escape like a child on the playground.

"Hello old sport!" Crowley said, pulling himself up to sit on the landing. There was something different about him...an edge to his voice that had never been there before. And he looked thinner...lankier, if that was even possible. "How's tricks?" he said. The crows began cawing "Tricks! Tricks! Tricks!" Crowley beamed. "I've been teaching them how to talk," he said with a smirk. It made Johnathan want to knock his teeth in, but he was hanging just out of reach. How did he get up there so fast? Crowley licked his lips, "And they've been teaching me." Johnathan was tired of listening to him talk. The sound of his voice was like nails dipped in oil and ran over a chalkboard. It made him crazy.
"I bet you think you're really funny" Johnathan said looking up at him, "Come down here so I can show you how funny you really are, Crowley." That wiped the smile from his face.
"My name is Edward" he said flatly, "Though I don't think I've introduced you to my friends. This is Lutece..." he said, nodding his head towards a particularly haggard crow perched on his shoulder, "Lutece, I'd like you to meet Johnathan." This had woken up something in the birds. They began screaming his name, "Johnathan! Johnathan! Johnathan!" He couldn't ignore the rage in their voices, becoming suddenly aware of just how many there were. Crowley looked down at him and cocked his head to one side, then the other. "Everyone," he said, "Say hello."
There was a roar of a thousand wings beating the air, and they were on him; hundreds of beaks ripping into him like jagged razors, claws digging into his skin like needles. He could only scream and piss himself. They took his eyes; beaks punching through his eyelids like tissue paper. He saw his lights go out, and then felt hot blood running down his cheeks.

In his last agonizing seconds, Johnathan only heard laughter.