Counting Crows

Part One

The first one showed up a year before Ma ran away and Pa drank himself to death. It landed on my windowsill, black feathers a sharp contrast against the warm summer sky. I tried to ignore it and hide under the blankets in order to block out Pa's yelling and Ma's sobbing. It usually worked. I can make up stories inside my head, imagining I had siblings who I could play with down at the lagoon, and not just Ma whenever Pa was passed out and too busy snoring on the dirty mattress on the floor to bother us. Its indignant cawing broke through these dreams, shattering them like glass. I glared at the bird—stupid things. Constantly shitting on our deck as I hear Pa say. They keep coming back and Ma won't clean it. She makes things worse for herself really. If she did what he asked she wouldn't always be so hurt all the time. It's all her fault. I stared into the bird's glassy eyes, willing it to shut up and go away before Pa heard and came stomping up the stairs, taking out all his alcohol-induced anger on me instead of Ma. She's bigger than me. She can handle it. She has been handling it for the 9 years I've been alive. The fighting below me grew quieter and quieter. I tensed waiting for the door to slam shut signaling Pa is going to the pub, and Ma to go lock herself away in her room, leaving me to do whatever I wanted, the only time I could. Today, however, for some reason I couldn't fathom, I couldn't tear myself away from this bird. It had completely trapped my attention, I couldn't pull away. The bird cocked its head, the sleek feathers shining in the sun. I reached out to touch it, grab a feather, and maybe even shoo it away. The second my finger touched it, I had an electric shock, stronger than anything I'd ever felt before. I fell to the floor, and the world turned into night.

 
Exactly 1 year later to the date everything changed. Ma had run away a few weeks prior, on my birthday in fact. She had dropped my birthday cake and that caused the previously placid Pa to punch her square in the face. She looked him dead in the eyes for a few seconds, turned around, and walked into their bedroom. Pa tried to follow her in but she barricaded herself in. A few minutes later she walked out with a full bag in hand, blood dripping out of her nose, and just left. She didn't even look at me. I had to pinch myself a few times, I wondered if I was a ghost. She didn't even seem to remember I was there

Today was a blur. I remember making dinner, I remember taking Pa his many drinks, but after that, I don't remember anything. I don't remember going to bed, I don't remember hearing the door slam for Pa to go to the pub. The next thing I remember is waking up and thinking everything felt different. Like the world was calm. Maybe even like the calm before a storm. I walked down the stairs, tiptoeing so as not to wake up Pa. I couldn't hear him snoring though. I just thought today must be a good day, he's gone out early and won't bother me. His bedroom door was ajar. This was weird. That door is always bolted shut whenever Pa isn't home. I slowly walked up to it, an anxious balloon growing in my stomach. I put my hand on the rough wood and pushed it open. It creaked when it opened. That scared me so much that I nearly ran away. But then I saw a glimpse of Pa's ghostly white face and pushed it open fully. I don't think I felt much when I saw the vomit covering his chest that wasn't rising, or the paleness of his body, I think I mostly realised the absence of feeling something. Surely I should feel some sorrow right? I mean he was my own flesh and blood. I felt nothing though. The only thing I think I felt was fear when I heard a caw from behind me. I spun around and there was that black, shiny bird from a year ago. That year I'd learned the name of this strangely beautiful bird.
It was a Crow.