Broken Bird

Bursts of starlight dribbled in webs across the deep water, while mosquitoes danced along the surface. Tendrils of my hair drummed rhythmically against my cheek in the same wind that rippled the water and tossed the autumn leaves. One drifted past, to reveal bugs shimmying along the muddy edge of the pond, unaware of the predators that lay waiting in surrounding trees. All around me, I heard and smelled the gentle harmony of nature. So when it shattered, I knew.

I was on my feet fast enough to see the first firefly flee to the presumed safety of the woods.

“Riley… Greetings, my Raven.” The familiar drawl immediately caused my muscles to tense, and my eyes were wide when I turned.

“Gr- reetings.” Shit! I cursed my own nervous voice, the stuttering that spread that gloating grin on his malevolent face.

My eyes squeezed shut against the sight, so that I never saw the punch that knocked me to the moist ground. But I felt the warm liquid on my jaw and the pain- oh, yes, how I felt the pain! Sweaty hands twisted the rough fabric of my jeans. Only after several deep breaths did I calm enough to see it was my own hands gripping my jeans, my own hands so close to a very vivid square of white. Using all my strength, I scrambled to my knees and grabbed with numb fingers. The note snapped in the wind, making it difficult for my unfeeling fingers to unfold. Upon it was a single sentence in his bold script:

‘Lesson learnt yet, my Raven?’ As I knelt, huddled and staring, blood dripped from my jaw onto the paper, staining it. Only hours later, when it was a bloody ball in my grasp, did my exhaustion take hold and allow me to sleep. I drifted in that world of violent dreams until dawn; it was only then I returned to a world of violent reality.

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Doubts paraded through my mind as I marched to what I had once called ‘home’. Three weeks ago, I had sworn I would die before I submitted to this. How weak I was. Eternity, reverence, redemption… these were all words with so much meaning. It was amazing how easily they were eclipsed by hunger, pain… loneliness.

I was no longer one of them. I did not want to be one of them; a fool dressed in white, a hypocrite with blood on his hands. Yet here I was, marching to my inauguration.

My own family had disowned me, withdrawn those basic rights of food and shelter upon hearing my decision. Living shame was all I was to them; an embodiment of their failure as parents. Failure to teach me values, to show me the enlightened path. Why could none of them consider that I had seen the path, and declared it a dead- end? All too familiar tears pressed against my lower lids, trembling on the edge of falling.

Breaking the cycle; becoming independent; creating a new choice for the children of the village, all ideals I had held for years. Waiting for the moment when the choice came, and with it my opportunity to change the future. Three weeks later, here I stood. Oh, how weak I was.
Grass gave way to sticks, sticks gave way to stones and soon my bare feet were proceeding down the paved path to the church. Richly dressed adults clasped curious children to their sides, protecting their vulnerable selves from even the sight of one so touched by the devil. Most accepted the protection gladly, burying their faces in the velvet swaths covering their mums or dads. Now, the tears did fall. I knew those kids; they were children I had watched grow up, cared for, played with, and told stories to as the waning light in the sky disappeared. Watching them now, their defensive postures, the quick glances chanced my way… I could not help but weep. Silent sobs that pulsed in time with my steps.

It was as these tears fell that my tormentor emerged. Subservient poses became predominant in the surrounding villagers- inclined heads and silence spread quickly through those gathered. His eyes flashed at me, surely meant to look righteous, but I saw the dark pleasure lurking behind. He enjoyed breaking me to his will. With measured steps, he approached me. One side of his mouth quirked up at a joke known only to him.

Only when he stood close enough to once again punch my still- healing jaw did he stop. Allowing those dark eyes to travel down my body; ragged clothes, bloodied knees. He who felt it commendable to torment and break someone barely past the age of childhood… he stood in the richest fabric, shining white against the dreary colors of huts and mud. Holding out his lightly wrinkled palms, he asked in a deep voice,

“Are you of God, young Raven?” The ceremonial words brought a flood of memory.

Only then, I was known as Riley. Energetic, passionate, with a love of dance and carving… back then I was still a person to them. Raven was the lowliest of terms, an insult even children knew better than to use. It meant scavenger; a dreg of society who was best shooed away, so as not to contaminate any others. The efforts my tormentor had gone to in order to redeem me were unheard of; he was a hero for them, treated with reverence and respect. Never mind that I had pleaded, begged for him to leave me be; I was not a person. I had no say. In that moment, my dearest wish was that I had the strength to say no. Take the blows that would come from the deceptively gentle- seeming hands. Just say no.

“Yes.” My voice was a bare whisper, ringing out through the silence of the gathering.

“Congratulations, my Dove.” My tormentor slowly clapped his hands together; his satisfied gaze fixed on my quivering form. Following his lead, applause thundered through the assembly. I stood in a wash of praise, weeping inside.

Word count: 1018