Crow's Eye
By Jaimie Gumina
It started with just one crow, inching its way along the wire, but by the third day, there were six. Fat, ugly crows. From inside my bedroom, I hid myself under the covers so they couldn't see me. Just how long had there been birds watching me?
When Talia came home, she closed the blinds, but she said nothing about the crows. Mom mentioned that I smelled, but I absolutely refuse to take a shower because the window faces the wire. It'd be even more scary in an octagon.
And so I move about the room and only the room. Talia ignores me, as usual, but occasionally mumbles. Did she say something about black birds? Ugly birds.
The fifth day brought six more crows—thirteen in total. They continued to look through the window, but I had constructed a fort from pillows so they couldn't see me watching them back. Their beady eyes were yellow, and occasionally they squawked like Talia does in the morning when Mom tries to get her up for school. Mom mentions once again, on the eighth day, that I am a disgrace to the human race. But what about the birds? Eighteen now—ugly crows.
By the tenth day, I take all my meals behind the fort. Talia complains but Mom tells her to shut up, every time. I love it when the words “shut up” comes across her lips. No squawking theretwenty-onebirds. I mean: there. Twenty-one birds. Fat.
I try and see if I'm gaining too much weight on the eleventh day, but the only scale is in the kitchen, and the windows are the biggest there. Surely there are more than just the thirty crows vigiling on the wire. Is vigiling a word? A crow word? No squawks: thirty-one.
Mom comes into the room in the middle of the day and opens the blinds. Bad mother—for once Talia...so nice. I cower behind the pillow-fort, but Mom yells at me. I have no choice but to put the fort down. I hide beneath the covers again.
That night, on the thirteenth night, I wake up to the sounds of crickets rubbing and toads rib-biting down at the Daniels pond, and maybe even some dogs fight-howling in the distance. (Hah! Cliché!) But no squawking (Talia must be sleeping over at somebody's house.) Slowly, I lift the top of the covers and lay them back down—folded—on top of me, making sure to keep my breathing even and my eyes closed. But a slight movement of my eyelash on the pillow springs them open, and I see (See!) one crow sitting on the open, screen-less windowsill.
- - -
I live in a series of coincidental corners, none of which contain windows. I was told I was a female and born some seventeen years ago. I do not hate crows.
By Jaimie Gumina
It started with just one crow, inching its way along the wire, but by the third day, there were six. Fat, ugly crows. From inside my bedroom, I hid myself under the covers so they couldn't see me. Just how long had there been birds watching me?
When Talia came home, she closed the blinds, but she said nothing about the crows. Mom mentioned that I smelled, but I absolutely refuse to take a shower because the window faces the wire. It'd be even more scary in an octagon.
And so I move about the room and only the room. Talia ignores me, as usual, but occasionally mumbles. Did she say something about black birds? Ugly birds.
The fifth day brought six more crows—thirteen in total. They continued to look through the window, but I had constructed a fort from pillows so they couldn't see me watching them back. Their beady eyes were yellow, and occasionally they squawked like Talia does in the morning when Mom tries to get her up for school. Mom mentions once again, on the eighth day, that I am a disgrace to the human race. But what about the birds? Eighteen now—ugly crows.
By the tenth day, I take all my meals behind the fort. Talia complains but Mom tells her to shut up, every time. I love it when the words “shut up” comes across her lips. No squawking theretwenty-onebirds. I mean: there. Twenty-one birds. Fat.
I try and see if I'm gaining too much weight on the eleventh day, but the only scale is in the kitchen, and the windows are the biggest there. Surely there are more than just the thirty crows vigiling on the wire. Is vigiling a word? A crow word? No squawks: thirty-one.
Mom comes into the room in the middle of the day and opens the blinds. Bad mother—for once Talia...so nice. I cower behind the pillow-fort, but Mom yells at me. I have no choice but to put the fort down. I hide beneath the covers again.
That night, on the thirteenth night, I wake up to the sounds of crickets rubbing and toads rib-biting down at the Daniels pond, and maybe even some dogs fight-howling in the distance. (Hah! Cliché!) But no squawking (Talia must be sleeping over at somebody's house.) Slowly, I lift the top of the covers and lay them back down—folded—on top of me, making sure to keep my breathing even and my eyes closed. But a slight movement of my eyelash on the pillow springs them open, and I see (See!) one crow sitting on the open, screen-less windowsill.
- - -
I live in a series of coincidental corners, none of which contain windows. I was told I was a female and born some seventeen years ago. I do not hate crows.
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