Up With The Crows

by Zoe Parker

  “Are you saying this shit is real?” Hell, why am I asking a bird something so important? Well, how is this different from any other day? At least, the talking to the birds part.

  Athena caws at me then looks towards the little man who is now standing just in front of me holding his mushroom hat in his hand.

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but your companion is trying to explain a few things to you, but you’re not understanding her yet.” He’s a cute little thing, with a child’s face and big brown eyes. Puppy dog eyes that make me want to lean down to pet his small head.

  “Hi.” Yep, I have the most fabulous people skills.

  “Hello! My name is Jacaby, and your familiar says your name is Melantha. Strong name that, there’s a lot of history and magic in that name. Is your mother one of the wee folks?” It’s good to know that I’m not the only nervous chatter bug on the planet. I relax a bit more, as things in my mind start clicking into place.

  I’m very familiar with the symptoms of schizophrenia. There aren’t 3D hallucinations like this. Interacting with their environment on this type of level. I’m not experiencing mania of any kind, and my anxiety feels like normal anxiety to me. So, when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. Thank you, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

  Yes, delusions can feel real, but there are other symptoms that I’m missing, important ones—inability to speak coherently coupled with disorganized or even catatonic behavior. The biggest being lack of pleasure in life and let me tell you when Vale kissed me there was definitely no lack of desire there. I have enough damn sense to know that as surreal as things are, they feel REAL.

  I felt the smooth ridges of the scars on Min’s frail body. My fingers grazed the bones through Gahna’s too delicate skin because she is so malnourished that even her muscle tissue is degenerating. I smelled the stench of waste and unwashed bodies. Saw the bleariness of defeat in some of their eyes. There’s no way my imagination cooked up that kind of suffering.

  But come on?

  Wouldn’t there be more internet buzz if these kinds of things exist?

  “Miss Melantha?” Jacaby’s voice breaks into my thoughts.

  “I’m trying to decide if you’re a symptom or not,” I blurt out.

  “Symptom? Are you ill?” The concern on his face and in his voice isn’t the kind you can fake. It’s genuine and heart-warming and—

  I’m so fucked.

  “Something like that,” then it hits me that he called Athena my familiar. “What do you mean familiar? I’m not a freaking witch, am I?” Although, if ever I decide to go along with believing all this crazy shit, a witch sounds kind of cool, other than the burning at the stake thing. Not that I think they still do that, but who knows? None of what’s happened to me today can be considered normal in any way shape or form. Even the cleaning part was weird. Something I didn’t think was possible.

  “She is a magical construct created for the Path Keeper. Until you started to see the real world, she’d have been invisible to you Miss Melantha. But now your magical eye is open,” he says pointing at my right eye. He smiles again, and his dimples peek out. God, he’s freaking adorable.

  “If this,” I point at the weird eye, “was gone. Would I stop seeing stuff?” Would I go back to the normal routine? Well, as normal as it can be.

  Yeah, so ordinary that you talk to birds because you don’t have any friends and have wet dreams about swimming in loaves of bread because you’re so hungry, loser.

  I think sometimes my subconscious hates me.

  Jacaby laughs and twists his hat in his hands, “What is now seen can’t be unseen. Why fight what you are?” He pops his hat onto his head and gives me an elegant bow. “I’m off now. I need to fetch dinner for the little ones. Might I say that we are all glad you’ve come?” He turns and walks across the street, whistling while he walks. Little guy moves fast for having six-inch long legs.

  Athena’s rough laugh brings my attention back to her, still perched on my leg.

  “What did you expect? Mental illness runs in my family. I have every right to question the existence of monsters and shit.” She tilts her head to the side, and it makes me think she’s rolling her eyes at me. I return the favor and lean my head back against the glass wall of the bus depot. Looking up at the cobwebs and what I’m pretty sure is chewed gum, or worse considering where I am, I run as much of the day through my head that I can.

  An entire day of off the wall shit and yet I’m sitting here calm as a corpse. Sure, there’s anxiety but nothing above what I experience on a daily basis. I’m tired, hell, I’m even a bit scared, but for the life of me, I can’t find anything that screams delusions. I have nothing to blame for all this straight out of the TV shit, except that there’s a good chance it’s real.

  Blowing out a breath, Athena clicks her beak at me for disturbing her. Absently, I stroke her back to apologize and close my eyes.

  Am I really sitting here hoping that this is all a big delusion and that I’m lying somewhere in a room or on a park bench with a stupid smile on my face, catatonic?

  Yes and no. Yes, because I want to have the same stupid beliefs as everyone else, there’s no such thing as fairies. No, because it’s so freaking awesome to know that everything I imagined or dreamt about as a kid and hell, as an adult… is real!

  They’re real and stuck in that awful place to slowly die. Fuck.

  The rumbling of the bus as it slowly lumbers up the road brings me out of my reverie, and I sit up with a deep, weary sigh. Athena flaps her wings at me and then takes off, a spot of black moving among the shadows cast by the sunrise. Her departure doesn’t worry me. I’m confident she’ll be waiting for me when I get home.

  The bus jerks to a stop and I stand, stretching a little as I do. Thankfully the ride will be short, and then I can sleep for the day. Sleep and let my mind shut the hell up for a while.

  An hour after I climbed into my bed, I’m still staring at the ceiling trying to get my brain to settle down enough to let me sleep. I’m tired, I worked hard—I need sleep! But no, my mind says fuck you instead. After the day I’ve had I should be a weeping mess with an armful of ice cream tubs and a bottle of vodka, I still feel relatively sane, no breakdowns and no tears even. And yes, part of me still wishes that it was all part of some fantasy my brain cooked up because I flipped my wig.

  Logic tells me it’s all true. Funny that logic is telling me that paranormal shit is real, that I’m working in a prison for fairies and dragons and hot as hell vampire guys. Well, one’s a vampire for sure, Tavin is something else. I’m pretty sure he eats people or people like things. The two of them are identical, and yeah… both make my stomach do the Macarena. I can admit it without feeling stupid, I mean come on, they look like supermodels with perfect, lean bodies. Tavin was mostly covered in filth and other gross things the first time I met him, but could still pull off gorgeous. While even though Vale was an old man who had no teeth, at least in the beginning, he still made me feel things I’d rather not ever admit to out loud for an old dude. Now, it’s worse.

  God, I’m all fucked up for thinking about this instead of why I see fantastical shit.

  Maybe I need to go out and attempt to socialize with relatively ordinary people? Maybe drink a little bit too much and dance around with some horny, desperate guy who thinks rubbing my shoulders with his smelly hands makes me hot? I mean, I’ve done it with less motivation than I have now.

  Rubbing a hand down my face, I roll over again. Movement behind me brings me back around to look into Athena’s black eyes.

  “I feel like this is somehow your fault. This all started the minute I chased your feather.” The look she’s giving me makes me roll my eyes at her. “Yeah, you saved my life and all but still… you took me to the Unsylum where all the,” I wave my hand around while I search my over tired brain for the right word, “fucked-up laser vision shit works. I’m too tired to think of anything else.”

 
Hopping towards me she gently pecks at my hair and lightly caws at me.

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the life-saving bit and the job, but that place makes me worry I’ve got the same issues as my Grandmother; that eventually, I’ll completely lose my mind and off myself in the garage on Christmas Eve.”

  When Athena lowers her head and slowly moves it side to side, I roll off the other side of the bed onto the floor.

  “Did you shake your head no?” I ask breathlessly. After all the shit I’ve seen today it’s her shaking her head no that freaks me out? Just as slowly she moves her head up and then down. My chest tightens, and I force myself to take several deep breaths to stop the panic attack in its tracks. I know why her reactions—her human reactions—are freaking me out so bad. It’s one thing if it’s in a place that I’m unfamiliar with, out there in the world. Things change when it’s in my sanctuary, my home.

  This is the place I should be safe from the shit out there.

  When the first hot tear slides down my cheek, I’m surprised. When more follow and loud, snotty sobs start, I rest my head on my knees and let it all out.

  “I love your melons!” Loki, the Lord of random perversion, yells from his cage.

  A snort escapes me and when a warm, feathered head butts against my arm I lift my swollen eyes to look into Athena’s eyes.

  “This shit’s all real, isn’t it?” That slow nod is my answer.

  Wiping my face with the sleeve of my bright pink pajamas, I climb to my feet and trudge into the bathroom to wash my face. This shows how put together I am, I’m taking the word of a bird that everything I’m seeing is real, that this is all real.

  Crawling back in bed I pull my ragged teddy bear tight against me, hugging it like my life depends on it, I close my eyes and let sleep finally have me.

  Chapter Eleven

  Just remember it’s the birds that’s supposed to suffer, not the hunter.

  George W. Bush

  The next afternoon the ear cringing sound of all three of the boys squawking like roosters brings me out of the dreams that plagued me most of the night—dreams of iron cages and death. Rolling over I sit up and rest my elbows on my thighs.

  “Shut up, you stupid mini-chickens,” I mutter, cringing a little at my morning breath. With a grimace, I climb to my sore feet and stagger into the bathroom.

  When the toilet flushes a few minutes later, it drowns out the ruckus of the bird brats chirping obscenities and protests at me from the other room. Continuing to ignore their complaints—they were fed and watered before I went to sleep, they’re just spoiled—I bathe my face in ice cold water then start brushing my teeth. I’m tired, but it’s more of the soul weary kind than the physical and in my case, they happen to be connected.

  Looking at my face in the mirror draws a gasp of surprise out of me, the toothbrush falls into the sink with a plastic clink and toothpaste flies all over the place.

  “What the fuck?” I exclaim, my hand going instantly to my right eye. My goddamn glowing right eye. The swirling of fire and ice move together like a frozen slushie around the pupil.

  The slit pupil that does not belong in my eyeball!

  “What the fuck?” I ask my fucked-up-eyeball reflection, again.

  “Shove it down your throat, whore!” Willis screeches, breaking the staring contest with myself. That’s his signal of an impending temper tantrum, and a peek at the vocabulary he picked up from Loki. With one last look in the mirror at my pale face and the glowing globe that’s another brick in the wall of weirdness in my life, I go out to stand in front of him. The little bald asshole is on the rope closest to the bathroom, giving me a dirty look with his chicken wings pushed up and out.

  “Dude I could flick you on the beak and break the annoying thing,” I look over at his full water and food dish, “If you’re too impatient to wait for me then go eat your food in the full freaking dish, you mouthy little bastard.” Opening his beak, he hisses at me. “You can wait, Willis.”

  It’s hard to stay mad at his naked ass though, I mean come on, he looks like a raw rotisserie chicken. A laugh escapes me, and I shake my head as I work on getting dressed and ready for work. It’s already after two o’clock, and I still must take care of the buttheads and find a way to fix my eye. Or cover it or something. A light bulb goes off in my slow brain, hurrying to the small cabinet I call a closet, I dig through the myriad of bags and tubs in it until I find one marked “medical.”

  With a noise of triumph, I tear it open and dig through it until I find the pack of sterile eye patches and medical tape. Going back into the bathroom I cover the fucked eye and look at the mess of tape crisscrossing my face, in the mirror.

  “What are you staring at?” I say to my reflection, “It’s covered which means I won’t see any more magical shit and no one else can see how not human it is. “Denial isn’t just a river, Mel. It’s a way of life.” I whisper at my reflection before maturely sticking my tongue out.

  High on the false sense of security—that I’m fully aware will crash onto my head at some point—I hum happily while taking care of the now silent trio of birds. Athena is quietly watching me—no, judging me—from the window sill of the miraculously closed window, thank God because it’s cold outside. Although, I have no idea how she’s closing it and I really—since I’m all about denial—don’t want to know. I offer her some bird seed and while, for the first few seconds, she looks at me like I’m crazy—which is probably very accurate—she still starts randomly pecking at it. Good girl knows that it’s that or nothing.

  At least, until we get to the Unsylum, somehow, I managed to luck out enough to get free food there, it’s the only reason I’m not panicking and rushing out the door to get a dollar burger or something from the gas station. But that kind of food is desperate food, especially when it comes to the food from the local ones here, you’re playing Russian roulette with E.coli. I’m not sure that the employee bathrooms at work are somewhere that I want to spend any lengthy amount of time as a result of chancing the food. They’re super clean but creepy as hell. I felt like someone was watching me while I was in there, yesterday. That’s an awful feeling to have when you’re at your most vulnerable. If someone suddenly attacked, I’d pee all over them and that’s not cool.

  Besides, eating before work would be great, but I won’t starve to death before my first break, and Connie gives massive portions. Although food isn’t my most urgent desire, coffee is, and I’m not sure if I get coffee free or not. It’s probably a better idea if I stop somewhere on the way and grab a cup, but that would mean walking, and that will delay me longer than I have. Being late is a chance I can’t take, but I really need something to kick my ass into gear. I love tea but I’m not sure it’ll do it for me today.

  As I move around the room, I avoid looking into the small wall mirror above the sink, allowing myself to stay in my fake happy zone. Fighting with the dented door of my apartment sized dryer makes me want coffee even more. Putting one socked foot on the frame, I pull with both hands. It gives with a suddenness that sends me back on my ass.

  “Seriously, you little jerks?” I ask as all three of the little shit birds cackle in their form of laughter.

  Grumbling about my sore butt, I climb to my feet and put on my wrinkled uniform. Frowning I look down at the disaster that leaving it in the dryer all night created. It smells good, but are some white fuzz here and there on it and coupled with the wrinkles it looks slept it in. Great, I look like someone’s unwanted drunk cousin. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t have an iron; usually I’d throw them back in the dryer for 10 minutes.

  Looking at my phone, I see that I don’t have time for that. Figures.

  Willis starts throwing insults at me again. I stop long enough to glare at him to say, “Shut up you bald chicken, before I put you on a kabob where you belong.” He instantly shuts up and looks at me like a kicked puppy. He’s such an ungrateful bird, but even as I think that I reach out to gently
pat his head. Of course, I get bitten, but still.

  Rechecking the time, I start rushing around to get the shit I need to get done, done. I pet each one of the guys, even the mouthy-biter one, grab my purse and umbrella—because one rainy walk was enough for me, and head out the door when I look back as I walk by the main house my Mom waves at me from the large picture window in the front. Pausing I smile and wave back, I do love her—I don’t want her to see how big of a loser her only child is.

  The absolute, irreversible truth is, I’m not ashamed of her—I’m ashamed of me.

  I realize the minute she notices the eye-patch, so I turn away before she can come outside and mother-hen me. I jog towards the bus stop, the bus runs at three and doesn’t run again until six so I have to catch this one or I’m walking to work, and I don’t want to do that shit again. Especially since my shoes have seen better days, I’m using maxi-pads instead of insoles. Who in the world pays $20 bucks for rubber inserts when you can use these pads for way less cost… also, way less comfort but we’ll call it semantics for now.

  Once I’m safely on the bus, I sigh and sink down into the seat. I’ll look pitifully at Connie. She might fall for it and supply me caffeinated energy for the day. Plan in mind, I check the patch and relax for a little while—the foreboding feeling that today is going to be one I always remember dogging my heels.

  Chapter Twelve

  The bird thinks it’s a favor to give the fish a lift in the air.

  Rabindranath Tagore

  That dark feeling follows me through the door, past the secretary who gives me a dismissive look and shakes her head, and into the gloomy lounge where I stash my purse. I hurry out of the room before the breathing things I hear come out of whatever shadow or hole they’re hiding in. The patch isn’t nearly as effective as I hoped, I can still see shit—everywhere. It’s not as vivid, and some things I know are missing but the people—well, creatures—don’t look as human as they did before Vale hocked a loogie in my eyeball. The purple haze is missing but I’m pretty sure that eventually, I’ll see it all in my left eye too and that this is some stop-gap measure that’s only temporary and makes me look like a moron.