(Credit: Unknown Image Stable Diffusion AI)

Ever since I dropped out of college to pursue writing, I’ve been living on the outskirts of a coastal town. I was majoring in ecology, but I’m a woman of many passions and little follow-through. I’ve lived in Fort Brine for a little over eight years now. It’s the perfect in-between a bustling city and bumfuck nowhere. A paradise that has luscious forests, radiant beaches, and all the amenities of city life close by without the bustle. A paradise that I’m destitute in. 

Docked at the marina and all the while my job as a freelance writer barely covers the slip fee for my boat. I inherited this rust bucket from my estranged uncle. I shouldn’t be so critical, after all, it is a reliable home and vessel. At the time though I couldn’t even fathom the maintenance these ships need.  It was the only thing he left me. The rest he gave to my cousin. I’m glad he left me anything at all. I put the same amount of effort into being part of his life as he did mine. Too late to change that now.

I named the vessel The Nautilus as Jules Verne’s is my favorite writer. Unlike the fictional Nautilus though, if it goes below the sea, it’s not coming back up again.  Ironically, I feel I’m more likely to drown in work than saltwater. I suppose without the ship, I’d be homeless or if I was lucky couch surfing; this is the cheapest way to live in the area. Might save up and move somewhere more affordable in the Midwest. Who knows? 

Science fiction, fantasy, and post-apocalyptic are all genres ripe with stories to explore and blissful escapism. For the meantime though, I’m balancing an About Us page for an adult theater, pet bios from a dog breeder several counties over, a blog about the health benefits of transcendental reiki synergy or some nonsense, and a plot synopsis from a local comic book creator. My actual dream of writing fiction died long ago. Still once in a while even if I spent the whole day writing for a local business or shilling for a corporation, I’ll jot down an idea in my journal. Trying to catch something profound, even if it is just for me. 

The marina seems to be in a perpetual overcast. Like one giant brochure for a year’s worth of seasonal depression. As I step out to the deck I see all the wildlife from seagulls to sea lions thriving. I lay out in my rusted lounge chair while I wait for my coffee to finish brewing. 

“Hi, Alice! How’s it going?” my kindly neighbor Edie shouts to me from the ship two spots over. 

I smile at her warmly as I shout back “I’ve been pretty good. How about you?”

We small talk for a while as she told me about her day. It’s early enough that the neighbors won’t complain if we make a bit of noise. The nice ones anyway. The hard part is, that I genuinely like Edie and her husband Dave, but I never have anything of substance to talk about. I’ve always struggled to connect, especially with the people I want to. They’re retired and had to choose between a trailer park and this. I’m lucky they chose here. They even brought me homemade Indian food as a welcoming gift to the “neighborhood”. Samosas are the best, what else is there to say? I bring my coffee mug back to the lounge chair as the sun sets. It’s impossible not to notice the sharp bite in the air. 

“Coffee? At this hour? You’ll be up all night!”

That’s the plan, Edie. I’ve got too many deadlines approaching. Instead, I lie, not for anything nefarious, it’s just quicker than the explanation sometimes. 

“No worries Edie! It’s decaf. Just something to keep me warm tonight.” 

That along with a generous pour of  Bailey’s.

“Isn’t it just dreadful how cold it gets?”

“Yeah, that’s boat life though. You and Dave catch any sharks lately?”

Some days I like to take the boat out and nightfish for sea bass and if I’m lucky a bat ray. So it’s the only topic I can ever think of.

She laughs “No, no. We caught some Halibut though!”

“Glad you didn’t get skunked, that’s great! I’m going to wind down. You two have a good night!”

“Okay! You too Alice.”

I really need to bake her a cake or something. First I need to learn how to bake. Second, find someone with an oven. 

After finishing the most pressing tasks, I take a well-earned rest. My heated blanket barely staving off the chill. I woke up far too early. This always happens when I overindulge. I check my alarm clock and it reads 2:27am. Jesus. Well, I’m awake, so I put on my jacket and started writing something for myself. The words flow effortlessly and I keep my editing to a minimum for once. Don’t get me wrong it’s rubbish, but it’s not taking up space in my head. After losing my momentum, I try to fall back asleep. It doesn’t work and it’s not even 4:00am yet. Fine, I scheduled my emails. So tomorrow… I mean today will be just for me. I lean over the railing and light a used joint. I’m a lightweight so it doesn’t take much to feel it. Most nights I spend pacing, trying to walk the stress out. It feels like I’ve paced across the whole planet a dozen times over. What has it accomplished?

 I let out a beleaguered sigh. “Someday I’ll get my shit together.” I laugh at my own thoughts and fall back in the lounge chair. 

“Talk. Talk. Talk.” I chide myself out loud. That’s all it is. Still, I smile and stargaze before the sun greedily takes up the sky. I hear a distant eerie croak as I drift off. 

It seems like I passed out on the deck. My skin is itchy as I sit up and rub sleep from my eyes. Wait a goddamn minute. I’m in a massive nest of branches and wire precariously resting in a colossal tree. It overlooks the town and I can even spot my marina. It would take me a day to get back if I was lucky enough for hitchhiking to actually work. I made the mistake of looking down and was assaulted by vertigo. There is no chance I would survive the climb down. This makes no sense! I tried to find my phone in my pocket, but I must have left it in the cabin. I have my journal, a pen, and a BBQ lighter. At a loss, I lean back into the nest when I feel a sharp jab in my back. Rubbing the spot, I pull out whatever thorn must have gotten stuck in me. It. It is not a thorn, but a fragment of bone. Jesus Christ! Resisting the urge to swan dive out of this death trap, I eventually stop hyperventilating. It isn’t human, at least I’m very confident it isn’t. A rib bone perhaps? Regardless, it’s too small to be human. Still whatever brought me here no matter how impossible, is carnivorous. Maybe this is a twisted dream? If I try to climb down and fall then maybe I’ll… no. No, this is real. I search for anything to help me get back down. An immense shiny black feather is woven into the nest. There’s nothing else. I thought about harvesting some of the wire, but it might be the only thing keeping the nest together. Nightfall comes as I await whatever brought me here. Restless I roll my neck along my shoulder and see it. A large dark figure faces me on a branch. How long has it been there? It was so quiet. It knows I see it. Slowly it sidles closer. I hear talons scratching the bark. Every instinct tells me to flee, but I can’t even move. Finally overcoming the paralysis of my own nerves, I pull out my lighter and a dim light fills the space. 

“Back off! Now! I swear I will burn this mother down!”

To my shock, it listens. I was just yelling whatever I could at it, not expecting the creature to comprehend what I said.  Just making some loud noise to startle it, but I see it now. It looks like some sort of disfigured crow. There’s intelligence in its eyes. Too many eyes. Two of which are a deep gray. The last in the center of its neck looks… human. A bloodshot hazel eye. It raises its wings. Or is it hands? It looks like both: feathers, fleshy appendages, and cracked nails. The beak is curved and sharp like a dagger. Its torso is a patchwork of feathers and flesh. The creature is proportionally quite slender to its large frame.

The moment it raises its arms I shout: “Don’t try it! Stay right there!”

It takes everything I have to suppress the trembling to keep the flame lit. 

The creature complies and it opens its wretched maw. Inside I see a wormlike tongue and there are jagged teeth inside its beak. It defies all biology. 

A disturbing guttural sound rises: “TOK!”

“Fuck! I’ll do it. Don’t make me!”

It moves its wing-like appendages frantically but does not approach.

“OLK! TAAK! TOK! ALK!”

“I don’t understand what the fuck you’re saying!”

“FUUHCK!”

“What?”

“WAT!”

It’s mimicking me. The voice is deep and gravely to the point I can barely understand. By god, it is a crow! Its third eye blinks at me. A crow among other horrible things. So it is intelligent. It knows what I’m threatening to do. 

“What are you?”

“YOUUUU!” it exclaims. 

“The fuck you are!” I snarl. 

“FUHCK YOU!” it screeches in agitation. 

This scene would be funny if I could tell if it was simply mimicking me or if it truly understood what it was saying. And if it wasn’t eight feet of muscles, feathers, and scar tissue. I purposely slow my breathing trying to center myself. Christ! The creature is doing the same. Its feathers are less ruffled and it goes from heaving to still. I need to play this smart. Approach it like a person as it’s clearly sentient. 

“What is it you said earlier?” I whisper to test its mimicry. 

 “WaT! eARlier?” it croaks while cocking its head.

Yes, it can change the volume. It was even at a faintly higher pitch. 

I suppress the urge to curse “Fu- what was it? TAK? TOK?”

It hops obscenely, flaring its wings “TOK!”

Wait a second. “Are you saying talk?”

It hops more fervently “ToLk!”

This isn’t enough. I need to know when it’s talking and when it’s impersonating. 

With great emphasis, I shake my head up and down “Yes. Yes. Yes”

It shrieks out “YARSE! YAS! YES!”

I repeat this process for what must be half an hour before it understands yes and no. There’s no doubt this thing is incredibly smart. Not only did it know how to mimic me, but it was actually able to grasp the concept of what I was teaching. Time for the payoff.

“When you first saw me, did you say: talk?”

“yEs” it bobs its head in affirmation. 

“You wanted to talk? What we’re doing right now?”

Once again it nods “TAlk. YEs.” in a more leveled voice. 

“Why did you take me here?”

“HeRe?” 

I nod and motion from the distant marina to the nest beneath my feet “Yes. Here. Why here?”

Its neck eye widens in realization “HEre Talk! Talk heRE!”

I rub my temple “Fair enough.”

It repeats my words.

“You don’t need to repeat everything I say.”

It does anyway. 

“I’m a big stupid chicken”

He repeats it and despite the utter absurdity of the situation I’m in, I can’t help but cackle madly at my childish joke.

He stares at me a bit and releases a horrible bastardization of what I can’t even call laughter. Like a jackal choking on a squeaky toy. I spent the rest of the night teaching it the concept and the word friend. I try the same with “fly me down”, but whether ignorance or simply refusing, it does not fly me down. Of course. That would be too easy. I teach it to sleep and demonstrate it. Hoping desperately I wake up in the morning. 

The sun rises and I live for now. He lands abruptly in the nest and regurgitates in front of me. Inside the bile is a collection of bug carapaces, a cigarette butt, and two baby birds. Right, he’s part crow. They eat insects, mice, the offspring of smaller birds, and peck at the dead. They aren’t predators, but scavengers. That bone wasn’t human! I have a chance. He motions for me to eat it, picking up one of the tiny birds before biting the head off like a grape off a vine. 

“No, it’s yours.” I shake my head and waft my hands toward him.

He squawks in confusion before gorging on the remains.

(To Be Continued…)