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CW: child neglect, speech impediment caused by neglect, injury of an animal (natural injury)
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Friends were hard to come by in Arlen. In such a small community, there werenât really âunlikelyâ friends, or anything like that; new people really didnât filter in, so one knew everyone around from the time they were able to comprehend socialization as a toddler. Friendships formed early and lasted lifetimes, and the same would happen in the next generation, and the one after that, for however long the little town would remain standing.
Jonathan was set for failure from the start. He had to start schooling a little later than his peers- only by a half a year- due to a speech delay. He wasnât a slow learner by any means, but he was understimulated. At home, he wasnât as much talked to as talked at. So the speech delay made sense.
Unfortunately, so did the stutter that appeared when he started talking. Between friendships having already been cemented by the time heâd come in and the fact that no one wanted to wait around for him to finish a sentence, he didnât have a chance. He spent his time alone, and that was just the way it was, so he accepted it with as much grace as he could.
He was alone at home as well, at least emotionally. He couldnât remember when heâd started being sent into the decrepit church to atone for things heâd done- was there ever a time when he wasnât? He supposed it didnât matter. There was no sense of time there, the attacks coming so quick but seeming never ending from the sharp talons and beaks of the crows roosting inside. Granny didnât provide any solace, any comfort in his distress. Only the crows ever came to him, and all they brought was pain.
For that reason, Jonathan was always alert in parts of their property the crows frequented. Oddly, they never attacked him outside the times he was sent into the church, but they were present elsewhere, staring down from wherever they chose to perch with sharp eyes that made Jonathanâs heart speed up. They all stayed in a large group, a murder, his mind supplied unhelpfully, on the property, generally remaining quite close to each other. Generally.
The sun was beating down hard against Jonathanâs neck as he passed the birds, shoulders tense as he tried to ignore them in favor of searching for the hoof heâd hidden in a box tangled in tree roots, where it couldnât be taken from him. He remembered the general area but no exacts, nothing that would lead him straight to it.
And then came the noises.
Loud shrieking caws rand out, filling Jonathan with terror as he threw himself to the ground and wondered what heâd done for them to attack him outside. However, nothing came for him, and the noise continued. He pulled himself back to his feet hesitantly, searching for the source of the sound until he found a group of crows flocking around, making angry noises and lashing out at something. He didnât know what it was that made him immediately run over to aid whatever theyâd been attacking, sending them flying in different directions to clear his path. Maybe it was kinship, or a moment of bravery. All he knew was that he had to help. He knelt down, flinching when he saw what it was.
It was another crow. It laid on its side, breathing rapidly- maybe it wasnât rapid for a bird, he didnât know, but it looked like hyperventilation to him- and bleeding. He reached out, fingers twitching nervously until he lifted the bird, who barely shifted.
It couldnât hurt him, it couldnât even move much. It wasnât scary at all. But it was, he realized, weak. It wouldnât make it on its own. He knew there were hawks in the area, and he knew crows would abandon weak or sick members of their group if they thought they would be a liability and attract predators, so he had a pretty good idea of what happened; it mustâve been attacked, escaped, but was now unable to keep up with the group and had to be pushed out.
He could sympathize with that.
âItâll be- itâll be okâ he soothed quietly, holding the juvenile bird close to his chest as he brought it back to the house. It was empty at the moment, meaning he wasnât as scared as he couldâve been as he climbed up onto the counter, opening the high cabinet and taking out the red wine. It was the only alcohol in the house as far as he was aware, and placed the bird in the sink. He gently poured some in the bird's open wounds, disinfecting it as best as he could without using a noticeable amount of alcohol. He then wiped the excess away as he lightly felt around the area.
The bird flinched away as he ran his hand over one area, giving him pause. He unfortunately had to repeat it, feeling over the area again and noting the odd bend in the wing. That wasnât good.
He bandaged it tightly in a makeshift splint, taking his time to carefully take care of the wounded bird and bandage it up gently as he could. He took a handful of peanuts from a large container in the pantry and held the bird close, cleaning the area before taking the bird up to his room.
He placed it in a box, un-shelling the peanuts and placing them in the box with the bird. He tossed the shells out his window, then sat down in front of the bird to watch.
It was helpless, wasnât it? It couldnât protect itself, it was rejected by those around it. It relied on Jon right now.
It felt nice to be the most capable one in a room.
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The bird got better in the month Jonathan had kept it with him. He would sneak out onto the roof some nights, bringing it to get fresh air with him. He snuck fruits or peanuts up regularly, letting the bird eat as much as he needed.
He watched the wing mend.
It was wrong.
Because of the structure of a birdâs hollow bones, they were not the easiest to set correctly. A bird's wing is very specific in formation, evolved in the right shape for the bird to fly. Birds with broken wings that didnât heal right, for that reason, often donât fly right after.
Jonathan really had hoped he did well enough, but when he brought the bird outside, it was only able to fly about 20-30 feet before landing again; not far enough to be able to get its own food, or escape a predator, or keep up with a family. But maybe enough to live in a sheltered area on the property, enough to live in comfort with Jonathan bringing food for the bird.
He wouldnât have to leave. He wouldnât have to say goodbye to his friend.
Maybe this injury didnât have to be a horrible thing, he decided. Maybe they were meant to take care of each other.
âWell, you- you need a⊠nuh- name then.â He mused, looking down at the bird. âWhat d-dâya reckon?â
The bird looked up at him and hopped closer, making a noise.
Craw! Craw!
He laughed softly, bending down and letting the bird perch on his hand.
âCraw? Well Craw- Craw it is, then.â
The bird looked at him oddly when he said it, making Jonathan laugh again.
Itâd be nice to have some people to talk to, sure. But it was nice to at least have one friend.
WARNINGS: Bullying, child abuse, religious trauma. The Crane trifecta, if you will.
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The Georgia sun beat down hard on Jonathan, only partially blocked by the stalks growing high above his head. Even still, they provided cover from something else.
He could hear footsteps somewhere nearby; other boys, yelling and taunting from behind as he tried to meander through the densely packed plants, trying to track the noise of his pursuers over the beating of his own hammering heart.
Jonathan kept running, doing his best to evade the boys following him. He was, however, not particularly perceptive of his surroundings. Focused on trying to figure out where the boys were, he didnât see anything in front of him until he was already aching on the ground, lip smarting something awful. He looked up, trying to focus his eyes as best he could.
Heâd run into a scarecrow post.
He froze, staring up at it nervously as he realized the hit disoriented him, and he know longer had any idea what direction he came from, or where the boys wouldâve been.
Jonathan scrambled to his feet, backing up against the corn stalks heâd been running through until a hand landed on his shoulder and threw him to the ground.
At fourteen, many of the boys in Jonathanâs class had changed over the school break. Theyâd filled out, gotten stronger, more proportional. Jonathan on the other hand with no baby fat in him for his body to distribute, just got skinnier.
It cemented the dynamic between him and the other boys. No, he wouldn't be able to match them when they were older. Theyâd always be stronger and healthier, and heâd remain emaciated and low on energy with no calories to burn.
He couldnât fight them, and he couldnât run for long. A horrible betrayal of his own body, as far as he was concerned.
His only choice was to take it, and he didnât even get a say in the matter.
A hand closed around his wrist, holding on tightly in a way that was likely to bruise. Jonathan was pulled back up to his feet, barely registering the words of the boys around him.
âHiding with your own kind, huh?â
âLooks more like a skeleton than a scarecrow nowadays-â
âNah, heâs a scarecrow. Messy hair, stick arms, nothinâ in that skull of his but hayâ
A fist knocked on his head pointedly. He flinched away, but a hand tangled in his hair tightly to keep his head in place.
âHey, why donât we switch âem out? One scarecrow for another, take that one down.â
They wouldnât, would they? Surely whoever put up the scarecrow would be upset.
Except they were taking it down. He kicked, he flailed, but the hands holding him in place were steadfast, and there wasnât a damn thing he could do to stop them when he was held up against the post.
The nails that held the scarecrow up were removed, then reinserted through the boyâs shirt to hold him up in much the same way.
When the arms around his torso let go, Jonathan went limp, held up by the sleeves and collar of his shirt and the belt loops of his pants. Nothing that would hold long, but it was enough for what it was intended to do. It scared and humiliated him.
The boys laughed amongst themselves, surveying their work for a moment before disappearing back into the stalks around them. There was no reason to stay once Jonathan stopped reacting.
It didnât take long before a soft sound similar to a zipper came from behind him, a sound he identified as the collar of his shirt starting to tear where he hung from it. With the main support giving out, the sleeves pulled against the nails while attempting to hold his body weight. They too began to tear under the pressure, dropping him to the ground onto his hands and knees.
Jonathan pulled himself to his feet, running his hand over the belt loops that were attached to the lowest nail. They were ripped, as was his shirt more than likely. He had the feeling he was bleeding from where he hit his lip on the post as well. Well, there was nothing to be done about that. He glanced at the scarecrow on the ground again, before delving into the corn stalks around him.
By the time he finally found his way back home, the sun was touching the horizon and darkness was setting in. He was late, wasnât he? The possibility sent a jolt of anxiety through Jonathan. Maybe heâd make it, the sun was just going down early- but no, that was unlikely. A little hope was good, but too much- past the point of realistic- was just setting himself up to fail.
The door opened quietly, quietly enough that for a split second he thought he could get away with it- act as if heâd been upstairs the whole time. The lights in the sitting room, though, were on. She was in there, then, which meant sheâd likely seen him coming up the road, waited for him.
If he lied to her, it would only be worse for him, sheâd know.
Jonathan closed the door behind himself, gathering his courage as he walked into the sitting room. He curled inwards on himself slightly, feeling small despite his height next to the frail woman sitting in an armchair.
âYouâre late, boy.â
Her words were sharp, making Jonathan shrink in on himself further.
âI got lost. Iâm very sorry, it wonât happen again.â He muttered, barely above a whisper.
She stood, hand coming up
To his face, thumb resting right under where his lip hit the post. Her finger came back bloody.
âYou been starting fights? Ignoring your duties to give in to your sinful true nature?â
She pressed on the wound hard before taking her hand away, causing a sharp jolt of pain in his lip. He winced but fought back any noise of pain.
âNo Granny, I just fell into something, I swear.â
She scrutinized him for a moment before noting the way his shirt collar stuck up oddly. He knew, as he turned around to let her see, that this was it. He wouldnât be going to his room tonight.
âLook at what youâve done.â The holes in his shirt were pulled at scornfully as she spoke. âDisrespecting what Iâve provided you from what the Lord provided us. The blatant callousness for what you are given will not be tolerated in my home. Do you understand?â
Jonathan curled his shaking hands to his chest, voice coming out slightly cracked.
âYes, Granny. I understand.â
âYou must pray for your wicked soul, for your salvation. You will not eat or sleep until you repent. Understood?â
He nodded silently, not moving as she went to get her his suit. Just because he knew how she did it didnât mean he could avoid it. Heâd tried once. After his growth spurt she could no longer drag him to the dilapidated building with her own strength, and heâd refused. Heâd felt big for a moment, but only a moment. That was when sheâd started denying necessities to make him go willingly- or at least complacently. Four years from adulthood and still treated as a naughty child, because heâd always be a child of god. He didnât want to think about what that meant- if the torment would continue well into adulthood.
It didnât matter in the moment, though, heâd realized when sheâd come back and handed him his suit- almost exactly the same as his childhood one, just made to accommodate his bigger, lankier build. Because adulthood was years away, and this was now. It was happening now.
And it would continue to happen, he supposed as he went to the restroom to change into the clothes heâd been given. Because maybe one day heâd be able to say no, but today was not that day. Today, he would pray for his salvation.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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