Firstly, an apology. As I knew would happen, I have given up on successfully completing NaBloPoMo. I am also severely behind on NaNoWriMo, although I have high hopes of correcting that with the Night of Writing Dangerously on Sunday. But I did get some writing done today, with the Creative Writing Society’s Drabble Night. For those not in the know, drabbles are pieces of fiction which are exactly 100 words long – no mean feat, I can assure you. I managed to write two, which I’m posting here for your enjoyment: constructive criticism is, of course, welcome!
Sometimes, in the winter, we would go to visit my grandfather in Canada. And sometimes, during those visits (only if we had been especially good), he would take us ice fishing. It doesn’t sound like the sort of activity that would entertain a small girl, especially not one who spent most of her days playing with dolls and reading fairy tales, but I loved it. The unknown of the water, hidden beneath its thick blanket of ice, fascinated me. I wanted to know what was down there.
Until, one day, I found out. And things were never the same again.
The crow sits on the branch, silhouetted against the night sky. She looks down at the people walking below her, watches the wonder on their faces as they stare at the glowing moon turn to horror as they catch sight of her. She would smile in amusement, but her beak makes it impossible, so she simply lets out a loud caw, making the couple jump in fright. She can’t tell them that she means them no harm, that she’s only a crow who likes to watch the world go by. Maybe she wouldn’t if she could. No-one will ever know.