Monkey The Crow, And The Old Iron God
My pet crow is named Monkey, and she spends her days haunting an old iron god that patrols the edges of the city.
There’s an old god, cast out of aged iron, and it walks around the outer perimeter of the city. It has eyes that can see forever, and a body that will not rust in the rain. It’s a great eternal being, once capable of great cruelties and kindnesses. Now it is a very old thing, which thinks and acts so slowly you might mistake it for being still.
It is a great, grey god. It’s serial number is:
My pet crow is named Monkey, because that’s what she acts like. A little winged monkey, set on making mischief and uncovering mysteries. Her beak is as black as her body, and her sense of humour is twice as dark as any of that.
Monkey flies around the city, and seeks out the old god. She teases and taunts it, hovering about its great mechanical shoulders, like a half-forgotten ghost coming down from the trees at night to spread bad memories and creepy feelings.
My pet crow is named Monkey, and her relationship with the great grey god of iron and silence, is her own business. Sometimes, if I ask nicely, she tells me a bit about the adventures they share. They’re all very silly stories.
But I like silly stories, so that’s okay.