The Devoid

by HRM on June 9, 2011

Flash fiction by Lacey Haynes

The Devoid

The crows came quietly again last evening. In the space between lightness and darkness when I sat alone in my study, I saw them like an oil slick in twilight pouring heavily across the sky. I wanted to tie them each down with red yarn and watch their bodies bobbing on currents. Their wings pinched in place, each one sitting in dark contrast to the pin pricks of light, my buoyed black anti-stars wrapped in veins of red. That dear old Prelude in E Minor rolling along somewhere in the background. I felt the notes in my face and hands and organs. I could have bitten through my lip just to hear those searching sounds again. Through the scope of a pane of glass the murder climbed out of sight. I leaned forward, craning and caught them. Swirling together in a dance, unfettered but moving as if caught in some inescapable rhythm. Cadence, my old friend.

I could see them tied down. It was better that way. It would keep them from diving towards a glint only to severe a wing on a jagged can. Chewing through plastic rings and choking. Coated in tar drowning in secret in pits the same color as their feathered forms. So I would take each of their bodies gently folding wings into place. Rocking easily in my wooden chair amidst piles of red yarn, I will move with delicate fingers. The music then will be loud, flooding in but not breaking the almost imperceptible winged resistance. Clenching and measured, I would win. Pinning with thumb and forefinger, tying knots methodically, coiling each body with precision. After each was encased, I would push it through the opened window setting it free to the sky. It would fall quickly but somehow be caught on a gust, jetting it high into the murky air. Each body the same, precariously black then ink blue melting into the changing skyscape. In the space where light slips softly away, my yarn will always be red and glowing, loud and calling to me in audible melodies. I watch the group of birds screaming silently with open beaks. Their wings flap in unison, singing to me from memory, their subtle ghost songs.

{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }

Chyna October 2, 2011 at 7:31 pm

My hat is off to your astute cmmoand over this topic-bravo!

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