For Crows - mini micro

"They're clever," Ma said, gesturing at the old tree out back, festooned with crows. "Bright enough to forge friendships, hold grudges. Bring gifts."

Being seven, I never asked how she knew.

"Can I feed them?" I asked.

"No." Ma glanced at the back porch where Da sat, scowling, drinking, and taking pot shots with an air rifle.

My big brother, Dale, would beg a turn with it. Cold eyes squinting down its length, then lighting up at their applause, and flitting to Da for approval.

Maybe Ma doesn't like crows either. But... if she'd said yes, they'd have come closer to the house, easier to shoot. Da, hating their noise, convinced they were dirty and mean, would've got madder. Ma didn't want that.

I found a spot at the park instead, and checked a book out of the library to learn what foods I should offer.

It worked! They brought me pebbles, bottle caps, feathers, and, most-treasured: ring-pulls threaded with twigs. I stashed the gifts in a shoebox, and fixed the crow feathers into my braids.

Dale broke my makeshift birdtable out of spite. My new friends didn't like that. One always swooped down and harassed him every time he set foot in the park. I had a place I could go to get away from him. It was their best gift.

I set up another board, using hammer and nails this time.

One night, we hurried out of the house with a few hastily packed bags. Ma's face swollen and red. Dale dragging his feet and looking over his shoulder.

We ended up in a shared townhouse with two other families. No crows. Only pigeons. I admired the sheen of their feathers, a hint of peacock amongst dusty grey.

Dale went back, but tempers got the best of them in the end.

I'm back now, for a funeral. I drove past the house yesterday. Now, at the park, I find that little table with the crooked nails. Gentle fingers remember the clumsy hammer and old bruises. Count the heap of twigpulls. I'm unsure who I'm crying for.

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Word count, excluding note: 366

Submitted on 29th May at 22.40

*Quick Author's Note*

First, and most importantly: thank you so much for reading my story! The ha'penny that Vocal will toss in my hat for your eyeballs landing on this humble piece will be well-spent.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

A Year of Stories: I'm writing a story every day this year. This one continues my 150 day streak since 1st January. The big ole one-five-oh! Nearly half way there!

Please do consider lending your support to the other creators who are also on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They are putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Leave a comment: Please do leave me a comment. It makes it easier for me to reciprocate the read.

The story behind the story: This one was inspired by Christy Munson's unofficial challenge, but it's not an entry. It has a different word count, so I wrote a slightly longer version for it. You can read that here, if you fancy:

"My tears need a minute to find the edges of my face. If you'll please excuse me."

Thank you

Thank you again, most especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed! 😁

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