Jack was a scarecrow. Longing, Jack knew nothing more. Maybe discontent? Jack was unsure, he wasn’t an educated scarecrow. Not even the birds respected him. At the dirt he would stare all day long while birds landed upon him.

No one could challenge Jack in time spent pondering the meaning of existence. Tattered, bird dropping covered denim jacket and no pants were all he had. Jack longed. He longed with all his straw heart, for what he was unsure, but it was beyond this post he hung. It was beyond the horizon and the crops he failed to protect. More important than the sun in which he bathed.

A beetle Jack watched, intently. Not like any beetle Jack had seen before, this one had a top hat. Jack felt emotions he didn’t understand, muted but strong. About it’s business the beetle went, nothing, not no one was considered by this beetle. His own world he lived. No concept, not fear, not hate, not even happiness. But the beetle had one thing. He was content Jack thought.

It wasn’t jealousy nor envy Jack felt, but knew he wanted more than he had.

For days the beetle squabbled with dirt. Jack had little else to entertain.

“Little beetle”, Jack proclaimed

“Why must this world be so small”, he continued.

“Oh my”, replied the beetle with a voice made for radio.

Jack might have been shocked had he not been a scarecrow.

“Even from the small mind of a beetle I can see your lust Mr Staw”, the beetle confessed.

“There is little I understand, but I can see that look in your sown eyes. You know, you can leave anytime you like?”

“Oh Mr Beetle, your mind may be small, but obviously also at its limit in its understanding of the world around it”, Jack scoffed.

“I do not like your tone Mr Straw, I have seen far away lands, they might be but a step for you, but you have never taken a step, so my wisdom is gospel and my word is as wise as bold my conviction. You can be free, you’re trapped by your mind my dry old friend”, retorted the Beetle, his voice dropping to a more sinister, almost mocking level.

Jack gave the beetle a blank stare, but that is all he could do.

“Did you know I’ve always wanted to fly?” Jack replied, trying to lighten the subject.

“Why don’t you fly with me Mr Staw, I tire of this dirt. I tire of this land like you”, the beetle replied in his unenthusiastic monotone voice as if contemplating his own existential existence.

Jack had to ponder this one a moment. Flying was not something he had considered he could do before. Maybe he could? He didn’t know any other scarecrows, maybe they can all fly. Maybe they’re all dead.

Concentrating hard the scarecrow focused his mind, trying to release the bonds that kept him in his involuntarily prison the farmer had created for him. Within his mind he had little doubt he could do it, Jack was a believer in the power of the mind.

He could feel his insides begin to tingle, he knew he was close. Crackling noises extruded from his insides, his eyes closed he continued to focus but he wasn’t moving. He opened his eyes. Gold and orange flashes flickered in front of his eyes. Jack began to cough, his vision was being clouded by something.

Mr Beetle slowly backed away as Jack went up in flames, quickly burning into nothing but ash and the bottom of a burnt post.

“Well, I didn’t see that one coming”, and with that Mr Beetle tipped his hat and flew off into the setting sun.


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