The Crow’s Cry

By Corvidae Luz Dulcey

Once upon a time, I was cursed. Once upon a time, they were cursed. Once upon a time, we forged the closest of bonds.

The events leading to my curse matter not, nor do the ones leading to theirs. The only thing that does matter is that, at different points in time, we had both been turned—against our wills—into crows.

I lamented my transformation; the rest of my life would be a mere few years and I would never again be able to enjoy the various luxuries of life as a human. Never again would I be able to tend to my garden, never again would I enjoy the bittersweet taste of a warm cup of chocolate, never again would I be able to take a relaxing swim in the lake near my former house. Never again would I have a house.

Eventually, whether by necessity or simply growing used to my new form, I learned to enjoy the simple pleasures of life as a corvid. I ate berries off bushes and I stole food from those stupid enough to turn their gaze elsewhere while in my presence. And of course, I learned to fly. I soared through the sky on currents of wind. I perched in the highest points of the city and felt no fear when I looked down. The simplicity of a bird’s life had grown on me; it seemed almost preferable to the complex and painful life of a human.

Still, I felt as if I was missing something. A certain connection was lacking that I so desperately craved.

I wanted companionship. The other crows served as satisfactory company for a while, but their intelligence paled in comparison to mine. Humans, on the other hand, were entirely out of the question; I could either pretend to be a natural-born crow and be treated as nothing more than a lowly pet, or I could reveal my cursed nature and scare them off, or worse, be hunted.

The loneliness was growing, an ever-expanding pit in my avian torso gnawing at me constantly. The only way I could vent my frustrations was to fly to the highest point I could find—the top of a lonely tower near the city’s center—and caw vainly into the air, hoping that someone would hear my cry and come, but knowing no one ever would.

Thank the gods that I was wrong.

I had spent an entire year in solitude since my transformation by then. I had just finished cawing into the wind that day, when I spotted them soaring through the air straight towards me. There was something odd about their movements; they reminded me of someone. It then struck me: they moved with the same mannerisms I had a whole year ago, the mannerisms of a freshly turned crow. My breast swelled with hope. Would I at last meet someone like me? Someone I could truly connect with, that could connect with me like no one else ever would be able to?

They perched next to me, keeping a fair distance. They were cautious, as I once was. I spoke—something I was extremely grateful crows could do—for the first time in months: “Were you… turned… as well?” They stepped back in surprise for a tick before opening their beak in an attempt to replicate my action, but half a caw came out in the stead of words. They were about to try again, but they quickly gave up and nodded instead.

Oh! The happiness that flowed through me upon seeing that simple gesture! Never had I been more grateful to see a mere nod than in that moment. In my ecstasy I jumped forward, startling the new bird. I quickly apologized, and began excitedly talking with them. The conversation was less than fruitful owing to their lack of speech, but I was satisfied nonetheless. I told them to follow me, that I would teach them how to live this new life. I would show them the best places to go foraging, I would teach them the most efficient ways to fly, and I would of course instruct them on how to speak. Seeing no other option, they decided to take the leap of faith and placed their trust in me.

The next year went by quickly. They had learned to speak, and I had managed to glean various nuggets of information from them: their name was Alex, they were cursed less than a month before meeting me, and—most importantly—they had decided to stay with me.

We had so much fun in the years after, enough to last us a lifetime—several, in terms of crow lifespans. We turned our shared curse into a blessing, and through it formed a bond closer than I even knew possible. We flew together, we cawed together, we foraged together, we stole together, and we grew old together.

We died together.

We had spent about seven years together, which is a decent number for a crow, and neither of us had expected one of our usual targets—an old man and his equally old wife running a bakery together—to adopt a cat. By the time we saw the orange blur of fur barreling towards us, we knew there was no escape. Instead of the flood of adrenaline I had been expecting, a wave of calm washed over me, and looking over to Alex, I saw in their eyes that the same was true for them. We had no regrets. We accepted our fate. The cat slammed into us with its claws bared, and I drew my last breath.

Then I drew another. And another. And yet another, until I realized that I was somehow still alive. I looked down, but where I expected to see talons I instead saw feet. Human feet.

The curse had been broken. I was… conflicted, to say the least. Could I truly return to life as a human? Would I never again be able to soar? A pool of dread began to form in my gut as I asked myself yet another question: would I be able to live on without Alex?

I fortunately never had to learn the answer to that question.

I looked to my left where Alex the dead crow was supposed to be, and instead saw Alex the very much alive human. While their face was foreign to me, their eyes were unmistakably theirs, and in them I saw recognition as they looked into my own eyes and made the same conclusions.

We stared at each other in shock. The cat had run away by now, startled by our sudden transformation. I spoke using my tongue for the first time in nearly a decade: “Are we…?” Alex shakily nodded. A wave of some feeling I cannot name—or was it multiple?—rushed through my body. I held Alex in a tight embrace and began to sob. They did the same.

We both had no idea what to do now, but we were happy nonetheless to merely still be together. I stood up on wobbly legs and took a breath deeper than any I had taken in years. I scanned our surroundings as I regained my composure and noticed something that piqued my interest. The bakery had a “help wanted” poster on its window. I gave Alex a joyous look and smiled before finally saying,

“I think… I think I know what we’re going to do.”