Roadkill

I drive around lots of dead animals on my commutes to and from Hell.

Squirrels, raccoons, porcupines - I don't enjoy their bloody demise but I can deal with it. I feel bad, though - before we ripped up their homes and built roads and cars they lived peacefully. Now they play Russian roulette, having to decide when it is safe to run across the road. 

The unfair part is they don't have complete knowledge - they can't judge speed, or numbers of cars, they cannot hesitate once they begin the sprint. But fear spawns fatal hesitation.

Mankind causes even more misery than we give ourselves credit for.

But it is the birds that kill me. There is something about seeing a dead bird in the road that causes my mind to recoil.

Birds can fly. Humans pretend to fly, we tell ourselves we can fly - that is how we get through life with our lies - but birds can really fly.

They do it gracefully, lazily - soaring up above us in exquisite freedom. They taunt me on my commute towards Hell - me speeding in a direction I do not wish to be moving, they exulting in their superiority over humans.

Until one of them makes a mistake and gets killed by someone who is more worried about getting to Starbucks on time then they are about the bird they just killed.

Roadkill is a metaphor for life.

If you are not paying attention, if you are not making the right plans, accepting the right compromises, swallowing the right amount of pride - you get run over.

Mercilessly.

Life speeds by, laughing, as you rot in the middle of the road.