At birth, he looked inky black with corkscrew hair tufts. His ancestors were magicians and arcane sorcerers.
At two years, his voice squawked. Doctors said he would grow out of it — and he did.
At four, he understood the language of crows.
At five, his mother’s heart broke as she watched him shape-shifting; the crunch and crackle of bone, his neck and spine hardened. Wings unfurled beneath his shoulder blades. He spread them, soared skywards, then dived towards his own kind.
In the rookery, heads cocked on elongated necks greeted him with a caw, caw, croak, croak, caw, caw.
Mary Anne Mc Enery is an Irish and Dutch citizen, a senior—who does not act her age— living in The Hague, The Nederlands. She has fun writing micro, flash fiction, and longer short stories. Her words can be found on the Friday Flash Fiction site.