Aquaw Descriptive Writing

The streets were empty again, as they had always been. A short breeze blew across the cracked roads of the city, and a deafening silence hung in the air. How long had I been here? Days? Weeks? Months? Years? It was like time had been compressed - or maybe it had expanded. Battered street lights towered around me with their cracked light bulbs. As I continued down the broken path before me, rocks and concrete slid and crunched beneath my steps. The torrid heat of the afternoon stung my skin, and the red sun in the sky blinded me. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck and I squinted my eyes. Painfully, I lifted my arm up to shade my gaze, a sigh escaping my dry lungs. Every day that I continued to live was repetitive - nothing ever changed. Every day I searched for some other form of human life, someone who I could at least share
Plastic crinkled against my dirty fingers as I drank. The water trickling down my throat soothed the irritated sting it had. Then a ruffle of feathers and the noise of slim, clawed, feet against the hood of a car broke me from my haze.

The crow was back.

Squawks and 'caws' and other bird noises came from his throat; a one-sided conversation going back and forth between us. The bird, obviously, only contributing. It was like he was trying to talk to me again. The scene in front of me was cloudy - whether it was from the heat or the exhaustion or the lack of water in my system. Here I was, questioning my sanity again because of a bird. But deciding to give in to the thought that this crow was somehow sentient, I held my hand out meekly. Then finding my voice buried beneath the soreness, I spoke.

“Hey.”

The sound that came from my mouth sounded drained and weak. It was almost pathetic in my mind. Maybe I could have been more polite?

“Um- hey Mister