The Man Who Killed the Crow

For a long time, there has always been a crow in my heart. It lingers in the consciousness for a long time. Whenever I start thinking about trying to change a bad situation. The crow will start to cry, making a hoarse cry. The cry was noisy and harsh, sad and desolate. Whenever a crow begins to croak and flutter its wings. My heart will feel a sharp pain. If only the crow were dead. For a long time, there has always been a crow in my heart. It has been parasitic in my brain for a long time. Like a shadow at will. When you wake up from the sun in the morning, when you are busy at work, when you are bored. The crow began to croak, bringing with it an echo of nothingness. Tell me that birth, old age, sickness and death are difficult to handle with human power. If only the crow were dead. Crows are everywhere, On the street, next to the street lamp, in the sky of fire in the evening, in the howling evening wind. They are scavengers, Carrying tens of thousands of parasites. They were seen as the embodiment of plague in the Middle Ages. They are crows. If only the crow were dead. Sachiko thought. The crow's call came as expected. "I am you" said the crow. Relying on living in dark and damp remote corners It might be better if there were no crows, But the crows are always there, No matter how many die.