Crow With No Name: Part 1
#Wss366 caravan #MastoPrompt quaint
I sat on the porch of my #caravan—that’s what my best friend Rebekka-san calls it. She's a #quaint little British witch—and thought about what I was going to do with my life. In the background, the radio played an old "America" song, “A Horse with No Name.”
I've been through the desert on a horse with no name
It felt good to be out of the rain
In the desert, you can’t remember your name
'Cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain
“Wish it was me,” I thought.
My girlfriend dumped me because her parents didn’t like her dating a foreigner, especially another girl. College had been a bust. I had three degrees and a prodigious student loan debt, but no job prospects. All the places I’d considered working had been closed due to funding shortages or had hiring freezes. Outside of academia, who needed someone with degrees in medieval studies, Asian mythology, and mystic psychology? The last degree was from Antioch—a roll-your-own degree—and when people saw it, they said, “What the fuck?” Maybe not exactly, but words to that effect.
I felt like ending it all. Enough said.
In my hand was a vial given to me by Rebekka-san’s friend Abiru-san. She was a real joker, so I assumed the vial was one of her pranks. You know, something like castor oil or gall. "Drink this if you reach the end of your rope," she’d said, laughing. But maybe it wasn’t a joke—she was a witch after all.
“Ugh, that was…” I started but finished with, “Crickey crack.”
What had just happened? Had it frozen my vocal cords?
The world looked funny. What was in this stuff?
Holy shit! Black feathers!
Was it a hallucinogen? Acid!?
I must be tripping my brains out. I had wings!
#ScribesAndMakers 1.31 — Share something about your creative work this month.
I have been working on capturing the voice of a narrating crow that reflects the way a crow views the world. Lots of dashes and em dashes.
Snip from new series "Crow with no Name:"
Motionless girl—kimono stirring—no longer shimmering—eyes uncomfortably direct.
I scanned the area uneasily, and my gaze was instantly drawn to the sparkling pentagram she stood in. "I want! So pretty! Move, silly human," I cawed.
Moist cavities in the leaves surrounded the pentagram—a feast. "Move! Your ass, girl." I added, making myself clear.
End Snip