Hastings

Edward Hastings observed the bird on his windowsill. It faced away from him, at the first wisps of light on the horizon. [In the darkness, Edward might not have noticed the coal-black bird upon the variegated black marble windowsill.] Edward could have missed the coal-black bird upon the marbled black windowsill, had its left eye been as dark. The bird was, he decided after a moment of thought, a crow. A crow on the windowsill at five-fifteen in the morning was not part of his morning routine.
	Edward Hastings did not like variations to his morning routine.
	He considered the crow's presence on the library windowsill. It had flown in when he threw open the shutters, for the window was not glazed, and then landed on the windowsill, where it continued to stare unblinkingly at him.
	Edward Hastings did not like the crow.
	Edward waved at the crow dismissively. "Shoo," he ordered. The crow let out a cry, flapped its wings, and settled down on the windowsill once more. Having reoriented itself in mid-air, when the crow alighted once more it was facing the outside. A small mass, chalky white, lay upon the windowsill beneath the crow. Edward waved at it again, irritated at its audacity.
	"Go away, damn you!" he cried, swinging at it, "Shoo!"
	The raven flew off into the gentle violet wisps of the dawn.

	From above came the head of the household, his boots with their rusted steel caps [causing sound] upon the wood stairs. A slight shimmering above the still-hot frying pan betrayed its recent use, but the kitchen was otherwise deserted, melamine and white marble surfaces devoid of dust or grime. The windows were open, half-open voile curtains drifting on a light breeze. One place at the table was set, cooling toast with bacon and eggs next to a glass of milk, beads of condensation rolling slowly down its sides.
	He ate silently in the grey illumination of the early morning.

	William returned with his girlfriend.

	Lorraine. Room is matte black, light-absorbing. She wears white. Caw.

	William and his girlfriend.

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	Lorraine held it up to the newly risen upper limb of the sun, watching as the raven as it took wing, majestically black as the first ray of sunlight lit the clouds behind it into blazing flame.