#WritePhoto Messenger In Black

July 13, 2017 — 6 Comments

as the crow flies

They called out to each other when he entered the building. “CaCaw-CaCaw”, the sound of the crow echoed through the staff to warn that the boss has arrived. Quickly scurrying to clean up, sweep up, and look alive, everyone knows what the boss likes to see and what sets him off.  This factory was for a while the last remaining business in the town.  Generations of village folk have worked in the same jobs for decades.  The relationships between the factory and the town were simple.  The workers provided an honest labor force, and the factory provides jobs to keep the economy alive.

The casket industry is a lucrative niche in the death market. Since 1795 the luxury leaders in the industry had been Royal Flush.  They were the providers of royal caskets, designed for pomp and ceremony.  To stay in high society and leave a lasting legacy the final statement had to reflect an abundance of tradition and very flashy symbols of wealth and power.  No expense was spared as the Victorians went about turning the funeral into a well orchestrated show with all the trimmings. Modern times brought new color and swag to the final container.  The possibility to jack up the price with extras had never been better.  Nobody wanted to be outdone by others as they made their final exit. Caskets were almost pure profit.

Times changed, global warming had  severe consequences for graveyards everywhere.  As the costal waters rose currents swept through cemeteries causing remains to float to the surface and drift out to sea.  Nobody had anticipated this side effect.  Suddenly burial was no longer the first choice of those who needed to dispose of their dead family members. Royal Flush was the last place any sane person would look for a civilized end.  The factory doors closed and the workers all had to move to higher ground.  As they looked back at the factory for the last time a black crow swept low in the sky and shouted, “CaCaw, CaCaw”.  They understood his warning, his message.  They saw the folly in resisting change and biting the hand that feeds.  It was too late.

#writephoto

This story is written in response to Sue Vincent’s Echo, where a photo prompt is featured every Thursday.  Join us to read, write, and comment here.  Jump right in with your version!  It is fun to see how many ways the picture is interpreted.

SaveSave