The Crow Father

    It wasn’t supposed to be like this. After all, Dad promised that it’d be a short walk. It’d be over soon.

    I should learn that all of his words are nothing more than empty lies to fill the void of his heart. Family bonding trips are the worst thing that could ever grace this world, especially when your mom forced you to be with your deadbeat father, to try to mend the bond that was previously shattered. 

    He went to get the milk and didn’t come back one too many times. Too embarrassed to show his face around after it turned out his son and only child didn’t have any notable power to speak of. After all, my dad is an avian hybrid. Beautiful golden wings protruding from my dad’s back showed that. It shone perfectly in every angle of the light. That’s probably one of the reasons why my dad became a model. A superficial, shallow model.

    My mom on the other hand--her and my dad were high school sweethearts--was an ok lady, if I have anything to say about it. Communicating with animals is a pretty useful skill, I think, unless you use it to mimic every single Disney princess that came on screen. One fun fact about my mom is that she cannot sing to save her life. Doesn’t matter what Disney princess looks she had, she did not have the voice to match it. 

    A loud and obviously fake laugh interrupted me from my thoughts. Of course, it was my stupid deadbeat dad, laughing at some stupid joke some other person made. His head was thrown back, and my dad’s perfect, golden, wings were adjusted just in the way that the light reflected back onto him, making my dad look like some saint descended from the heavens. 

    If I could, I’d punch him right in the face. I imagine the bone cracking, his perfectly chiseled features--which I had painfully heard my mom gush over so many times--breaking underneath my touch. 

    The group was already very ahead of me. If I turned back, no one would notice. So I did. I’m not stupid, I know what looks like a trail. 

    I walk along the trail the opposite direction. No one calls out to me. Fine. That’s how I like it anyways. Besides, no one saw me leave the car with dad. No one will notice a gangly blond teen with a scowl on their face. I know that, because dad won’t shut up about it. 

    I walk a couple more feet, until I stop dead in my tracks. Looking around, I realize that this wasn’t the trail. At least, not the one I’m supposed to be on. A crow flies in the middle of my path. I take a step forward. Unlike the pigeons I encountered during my walks in the city, the crow doesn’t fly away. It stares up at me, eyes unblinking. They’re black. Deathly black. It opens it’s mouth and I expect a loud noise, anything normal for a crow. 

    Instead, it talks. “Hello! Hi!”

    I stare at it, open-mouthed. This can’t be true. I’m powerless. Nothing special. Even if my parents never took me to a specialist, I know that I’m powerless. That’s a given. 

    “Brian! I am Brian!” The crow talks again. 

    “Please tell me I’m dreaming,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes. The crow was still there, and instead of me waking up, my back erupts in pain. “Ow!”

    “Young master doesn’t have wings yet?” The crow asks, it’s head cocking to the side in confusion. 

    “I’m not your stupid master. Get lost,” I say. Black spots begin to pop up in my eyes, and I grab my back in pain. The crow stood there, unmoving. “Didn’t you hear me? Get lost!”

    “Young master is hurting?” The crow said, like it was a question. 

    “Obviously!” I yell. Faintly, I could hear the ripping of fabric, wind on my exposed back. Shouldn’t my parents be here for this? A traitrous voice whispers. “Shut up,” I mutter. 

    The crow gets up into my face, staring unblinkingly. It opens its mouth to say something, but by then everything felt like it was submerged underwater. I collapse on the ground, huffing in pain. 

    An entire flock of crows arrive in front of me. Murder. A flock of crows is called a murder. Brian looks at me. 

    “We’ll get you out safely, Crow Father!” 

    I black out. 

    The next thing I see when I wake up, is my dad’s concerned face. I’m in the parking lot, propped up against the car. The parking lot is empty. It’s nighttime as well. My dad’s golden wings are a muted wheat color. I can’t tell what he’s saying but I stand up and ignore him. I gingerly touch my back, and meet feathers. 

    Soft and black, the feathers are slightly coated with dried blood, and some a slightly askew, but nonetheless, they were majestic, in a horrifying way. Pitch black wings, the color of death. I smile, as my dad’s face comes into view. Now to deal with that idiot. 

    As I get into the car, I look out the window, to see a murder of crows flying over our car. 

    The Crow Father, huh? 

    I could live with that title.