The Letters - #2 - The Buzzard

Dearest Friend,

It's been too long since I last wrote to you.

Today, I am a buzzard atop a dead tree scanning the desert landscape below. In the distance, I see a person walking. Actually, it cannot be described as walking, but bumbling. They are tired. They are fat and sweaty. I wonder where they've come from. I wonder where they hope to go. The person is closer now. It is a man. I can tell he's on the verge of dying.

For a second, I almost have compassion, but then I remind myself, "I'm a buzzard, I peck and gnaw and project a dark, ominous glow where ever I go. Buzzards have no compassion. Buzzards eat compassion and once eaten, they digest it into mercilessness, and mercilessness, as we all know, keeps you alive in the desert."

The man, still about fifty thousand buzzard eggs away, stumbles and falls to the ground. I can feel my buzzard heart leap inside of me and I fly off towards the fat, sweating, dying man.

I am half way when I see him look up and stare at me. He smiles a dopey, heat-stroke smile while he is lying there. He looks peaceful, as if he has just seen an angel. I now add delusional to the adjectives of fat, sweating, and dying.

Before landing, I circle above him to know for certain what state he is in. He yells things up at me, but I have no idea what he is saying. I only speak Buzzard.

Finally, since I am such a cautious bird, I land out of his reach. The man is silent now and his eyes are shut. Is he asleep? I hop closer. His eyes open and he stares at me. The man is not smiling anymore. Instead, he is just looking at me blankly. Then, he slowly reaches into his pocket and pulls out something shiny. It's a watch. He gestures me closer, but I stay where I am. What does he think I am, a brainless pigeon? "Die already!" I think, "Just die, so I can eat you."

Suddenly, he throws the watch at me and misses me terribly. I hop over to the watch. Up close, it is all the more shiny. I look closer. I can see something etched in the silver. No, it is nothing etched. It is a reflection. It is my reflection. "Wait, aren't Buzzards black and sinister?" I think, "something is wrong." Then, the reflection reveals the truth and I immediately realize what I am, rather who I am.

An angel, I am an angel. I fly over to the fat man and he gives me a big, fat, sweaty hug. I pick him up with my strong angel arms. Then with one enormous leap upwards, I fly off towards the gates of Heaven.

God understands. The desert can make you think strange things.