Crow's Feet

I take a long, deep breath, and feel my heart thump inside my chest. It’s trapped inside, like a bird in a cage, begging to get out. It wants to be free, overlooking the mountain tops and soaring through the clouds. Instead, it’s locked away where no one can see it struggle or hear it sing.

I used to sing before the wildfires came. Before the concert hall went up in flames so high that the sky turned dark and a wall of smoke settled over the town like fog rolling in from the shore. Before my throat became coated with ash and my voice died out like embers crushed to the ground, I sang like a canary hoping to bring a smile to anyone’s face.

His face was handsome. That was before, too–before the endless long nights and the bitter fights over who did the dishes or who had to wipe down the toilet bowl because someone had poor aim. Now his face was a series of lines that marked everything I wanted nothing to do with, but the ring on my finger bound me to an oath I couldn’t break.

Not once had I broken a promise. They were sacred oaths, no matter how small, and they meant the world to me. Each one was a memory of a time when trust was placed, and I would not break it.

Crows break the silence, sitting on the powerlines. A dozen or more land, lining up behind me. I drum my fingers along the rail of the porch, leaning against the worn-out posts of what used to be our home. My fingers are numb and all but ash now, stained with soot and blisters from trying to save what remained of my marriage.

I am all that remained after the smoke cleared. The scent of rot and cinders drifts through the quiet house. A deep cough rakes my body, seizing what little breath caught in my scarred throat. Embers spill from my lips as I claw at my neck.

My ring finger scorches the flaking skin at my collarbone. The gold wedding band glows with a molten rage. The smoking flesh is charred black, encircled by a promise that cannot be broken.

A bird descends and pecks at the vow with its mottled beak. Around the bone, the tissue falls away in wispy pieces until the scratched ring rolls right off. It toils along the railing, slowly curving into a circle. The sound topples over itself until it clatters to a halt and silence settles again.

I smile, my teeth cracking from the pressure. My chest burns as my heart pounds against bone. Tendons snap as the muscle slides out of place, spilling through the gaps in my ribs. Ash pours out of the cavity, the heart settling in it. The organ pulses, raw and dripping with promise. Legs ripe with sinew push their way through, and wings of flesh flare at its sides.

It shrieks, taking flight.