Day 22

IMAG0594

Still here! Next week, I’ll be without a computer for a few days! Egads! I’ll write on paper, but I won’t be posting. But that’s not until next week. In the meantime, I managed something for today.

Thank you for reading!

*

Everyone in town said a flock of blackbirds from the east brought bad dreams to everyone and misfortune to a chosen one.

Hannah loved to watch the blackbirds though. Breaking her parents and her community’s rules, she would climb a tree as high as she could and look for swooping dark cloud of birds. Weeks could pass before she’d see them, sometimes in the distance and sometimes surprisingly close.

If she were caught up in the tree with her father’s binoculars, her mother would rage. “Why do like to invite trouble?” her mother would shout. “Do we not provide you with enough problems?”

One night at dinner, when Hannah was fourteen, she asked her mother, “Which is worse: looking for blackbirds or climbing trees?”

Her mother slammed down her fork. “They both cause broken bones and bad luck. That’s what matters.”

“But how can birds break bones?” Hannah asked.

Her father focused on his food. His pasta seemed quite interesting to him at the moment.

“Hannah Clare,” her mother replied. “Why must you always ruin dinner with nonsensical questions?”

“But—”

Her mother pointed at her father. “His side of the family I blame for this. Curiosity pollutes the entire bloodline.” She dropped her hand to the table and turned to stare out the dining room window. “You don’t have to feed your curiosity. You don’t.”

Hannah knew she should keep quiet, but the same impulse that drove her to the treetops threw words out of her mouth. “I’d rather feed it than drown it like you do.”

The slap Hannah got ended the conversation. It did nothing to end Hannah’s fascination with the rumors about the birds.

Advertisements

One response to “Day 22

  1. If this were a TV series, the last post before your upcoming hiatus would be some sort of horrendous cliffhanger. The (nameless) old woman would disappear, and Hannah (led there by birds) would discover her in a broom closet with an asylum janitor — in flagrante delicto, if the author dares — in the very last second. “It’s not what you think!” the old woman would exclaim.

    And then the cut to a commercial.

    Or something like that, anyhow. Trusting you not to plan any such agonizing gimmicks.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s