There'd been an old saying back in my village- every eye watches but not sees. We are blind as bats. We flap our wings without knowing where they would take us, just relying on what our elders did. They're the first conquerors, after all, leading the new generation out of the muck and into clear water. What they haven't said was that clear water could be murky, too.

I peaked at the lightly skinned grass, hoping a cricket would shimmy into my beak. I haven't had a bite in days, and my instincts were getting impatient. All I've been surviving on was dried berries and old food the humans threw away. Now that the bustle season was over, there was no hope of getting their good stuff, like ice cream and fried chicken. I hop like a robin all day, just for a little cricket. How did I approach this level of indignity?

A little centipede skittered across the dirt and I pecked at it. It fell on its back and struggled to wriggle its hairy feet. I pecked again and it stopped. The sun had dipped below feeding time. If I were to return now, it would be fair game to the others to steal my kill. The elders didn't even bother to revamp the rules, because stealing was a practice to prevent collectivization and war. As they said that, they actually shoveled a cup of peanuts and fish into their dirty mouths, cleaning their black visors so they become even more oblivious to their nation's problems. No Crow was able to secure a stable living, because they were too busy stealing from others' hard work. The elders didn't know about gathered crime groups, stealing food from unsuspecting others.