The Ravens Gift

Ma is holding me in her silver birch rocking chair. Humming softly as she strokes my long black hair. In her arms everything else turns to a blur. I feel warm and complete. The breeze from outside brings the scent of lilacs through the open window, mixing with the fragrant cherry wood burning in the potbelly stove. All of it is helping to calm me down after such a long day. This morning started like any other, except it was my eleventh birthday. Cawing from the ravens outside woke me as the sun was starting to rise. Ma and I ran outside together and watched the ravens flying around. One by one they swooped down to their altar and dropped shiny pebbles, a coin, three rings, and even a pair of sunglasses in; it was almost like they knew it was my birthday! This was a good sign, or so I had thought. At the back of my mind I’m still mourning the loss of my elderberry trees. Watching as my Uncle cut them down earlier devastated me! Planting our trees was my last memory of Pa before he was killed in the war. Ma, Pa, and I had each planted our own tree when I was six. Uncle said it was the only way to get enough money to survive this winter with the price of beans dropping so low, but even Ma was not happy. She had told him not to, said that she would get a job in town but he didn't listen. I wish Pa was still here, then Uncle never would have come and stayed. Taking a deep breath I focus my thoughts on this morning's sunrise with Ma and the aroma surrounding me. A faint click of the door while I was drifting to sleep in Ma’s warm embrace told me Uncle was back.

I don’t understand what’s happening at first. He’s waking me up and rushing me outside. I grab my teddy off Mas’ rocking chair. The grandfather clock chimes three times as he yells, “There ain’t no time for shoes or a coat. The house is on fire!” Grabbing my arm, we run out the door. Rocks from the drive dig into my bare feet, jarring me to fully awake. As I feel damp bean stalks slide in between my toes I glance back. There is no smoke, the house is not on fire. I pull against my uncle's grasp and manage a raspy “Where’s Ma?” His fingers tightening their grip as he jerks me forward. Tripping over my long, white nightdress I hear the hem snap. Instead of stopping he drags me by my arm through the field, it hurts. Rushing water catches in my ears and I panic realizing he’s taking me toward the crick. Crying now, I start to beg “Please, no.” Ever closer, the soft fur of wet beans growing turns to prickly weeds and broken tree limbs. Jolted by a thorn bush tearing my dress more and ripping at my flesh I scream. Teddy falls from my grasp as I try to claw at his fingers and wrist to free myself. The muddy slope of the river bank goes fast as I splash into the water. He shoves me down and I watch the water rush by. My lungs tighten, but I don’t react. He pulls me up, and I gasp for the air. Down again, I count to 23. It's the farthest I can go. My body starts to shake, I’m trying to fight. Air, not enough, touches my lungs, as I see the rock in his hand coming towards my face.

Blackness consumes me.

The crick is red with her blood. Still she’s twitching under the water. Her face is shattered on one side now. Her dress is all ripped up and a murky pink. She stops moving. Her body is given to the current.

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Awake, I sit up in my bed and start talking to Kat, “Finally I know what happened to the girl, but now I wonder why he killed her?” Yesterday evening I steeped some Mugwort tea before drawing a night time bath. As I blew out my candles afterwards I spoke aloud to myself, “Tonight I will dream. When I wake up I will remember my dreams.” Getting comfortable under my freshly cleaned sheets took no time at all and just as quickly I felt myself drifting to sleep. I always see from her eyes when it starts, but this was the first time it all came together and ended. So the details will remain sharp I force myself out from under the warm blanket and head to my spot to write it all down. Walking through the bedroom I catch a glimpse of myself in my family's generational antique hawthorn wood framed mirror and come to a complete halt. Pieces slip together in my brain as I stare at my face. My birthmark is on the same side as where her skull had been crushed in by the rock. Her face flashes in my mind as my hands begin to tremble, the markings resemble each other perfectly. The realization hits that I’m being haunted by a former version of myself.

Authors Note:

Word Count (excluding note): 871

Most importantly, Thank you so much for reading! Sharing my writing on Vocal has been an amazing journey that is only just getting started. I hope you subscribe and enjoy my wandering ways. Dabbling in different genres but always thought provoking.

In this short story I use a lot of hidden symbolism from the ravens to the different types of wood. Silver birch is associated with light, love, and new beginnings. Ravens represent death. Lilacs for renewal, purity, and innocence. Elderberry trees represent rebirth and the ability to break a curse. Cherry wood represents the root chakra, new beginnings, and revival. Hawthorn wood is a symbol of sacrifice and protection.

If you could please take a moment to comment what you do or don’t like about this piece I would greatly appreciate it. I believe constructive criticism leads to growth!