The Crow

CrowI shot a crow out of a cherry tree when I was twelve-years-old. He fell to the ground and his wings fluttered violently as he struggled not to die. I grabbed a nearby stick to finish him off and as I raised it above him he gasped, “Wait.”
“What do you want, old crow,” I asked.
“I want to live,” he said.
“Why?”
“I want to love and be loved by my friends and family, to enjoy the sensual pleasures of life, to engage in creative work and play, and to continually investigate what is true and good and then arrange my life and manner in accordance with those discoveries,” he said. “This is how one becomes authentic, the key to all freedom and happiness.”
Then I whacked him with the stick.

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