“Not again,” he growled. He hauled himself upright and glared at the window.
“Three weeks, you bastard. Three weeks!” He screamed at the avian silhouette beyond the curtains. The bird continued to caw, a plaintive cry that bled melancholy into the nocturnal peace.
Maxwell shuffled across the floor and threw open the curtains. His bloodshot eyes peered into the night outside. The raven sat on the branch opposite the window.
“You. You always wait until I’m just falling asleep, and then CAW!”
The raven fluttered its wings and fixed him with a steely glare. Maxwell scowled at the bird. With one hand, he slid open the catch on the window, and pushed up the sash. With the other hand, he felt around in the corner beside the window. His fingers fastened around a metal tube. He lifted it to the window, and poked it through the gap.
Moonlight glinted along the barrel of the shotgun. The raven stared at Maxwell through the window and let out a final caw. Maxwell grimaced.