The crow returned to the burnt tree many times the day after the fire. It couldn’t settle – it was all wings and flap and rusty cawing. I think it must have had a nest high up where a crotch was formed by three branches.
But I felt no sympathy for it; the only feeling inside me was jealousy. I would have given up everything – laughter, hands, language – to become that bird and fly away. But what stopped me doing it was the reason why, in another life, I had ever looked down at this girl, this human being that I am, and given up everything to become me.
This piece of writing was for the 100 word (or so) prompt for Madison Woods’ #Fridayfictioneers. I’d be very happy to receive comments and constructive feedback.