~Chapter 1~
It wasn’t dead when I found it.
I’m not even sure what drew me to the window in the first place. But I went. I suppose I should have, even could have walked away at that point… let nature take its course. But, I didn’t.
Its neck was broken. Its wings outstretched and feathers splayed in a way more peacock than blackbird. I pushed open the window, having almost forgotten its deceitful boundary, though the glass was stained where the two had collided.
And then I tilted, just bent my upper body so I was leaning over it. It was in pain. No, I couldn’t be sure of this, and yet, I was. I think the eyes captured me, held me there until the option of walking away had faded, leaving me with no choice at all.
I backpedaled, reached out a calloused and cracked hand, and grabbed Capote off my desk. Returning to the window, I raised the hardcover.
My hesitation was brief, but present. The bird lay wounded beyond repair. And, somehow, I thought I knew what it wanted, what I would want were I the broken blackbird.
Or maybe I justified certain wants with inferred ones. Either way, it was the right thing. I took no pleasure in watching something suffer. Nor would I let it.
The book fell at exactly the same moment the door opened.
~Chapter 2~
My mother entered the room, and I reluctantly turned to face her. I had been in a good mood. I didn’t particularly want to change that. But there she stood, and that meant she had a reason. She never visited for a simple chat.
Her eyes flicked briefly to the window. If I hadn’t been watching, I would’ve missed it. She didn’t comment. She didn’t ask about the lone black feather sticking out from under Capote. She just gestured to the bed, and I took a seat.
She carried the makeup in her hand, and I refused to wince as she applied it none too gently to my eye.
“There,” she said, leaning back to examine her work.
I blinked a couple times to clear my vision and went to study myself in the mirror. My black eye was still visibly swollen, but at least the foundation she’d applied covered up some of the bruising. I stared at myself, almost ignoring the fact that I’d become reasonably comfortable with this routine.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
It was all I ever said to her when this happened, and it occurred to me that it was strange to be thanking her for covering up an injury she had caused. Still, I had learned long ago to enjoy these moments with her. These moments when I could almost believe her when she said it was necessary for me to endure the physical pain she inflicted.
“Now go,” she said, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Or you’ll be late for school.”
I nodded and grabbed my loaded backpack off its hook as I headed out the door.
“Hey, wait!” my little sister, Nelly, called from upstairs.
I was tempted to shut the door behind me and head off without her, but I knew that would only piss off my mother. I suppose that’s why I was tempted. I felt good this morning, stronger. And I realized much later this probably had something to do with the blackbird.
As it was, my mother shot me a warning look as I stood in the open doorway and waited impatiently for Nelly. A few moments later, she came running down the stairs with her backpack in tow. I rolled my eyes as I took in her usual perfect and prim appearance. Her golden-brown hair hung perfectly straight across her shoulders, and her makeup was light and tasteful. We were both very pretty, but most of the time I couldn’t help but feel mildly jealous of her. I had my reasons. Believe me.
