I remember…Johnny

 

I THINK ABOUT Johnny every day.

After all, we were intimate, he and I. Not in that way, never that way.

Would I have ogled him naked if I ever had the chance? And as long as he wouldn’t see? Of course. I’m sixteen and queer and not dead.

Did I ogle him, subtly and unseen, in his hot wrestling singlet at the few matches I saw before all this? See the above.

If sexuality can be said to be devout, Johnny worshipped at the altar of women. So while I appreciated and admired, I never would have tested his devoutness. Especially after he met Lisa. And if my left hand needed exercise, as it does from time to time to time to time, etc. (see reference to sixteen, above) there were other images to use inside my head.

Would he approve of what I’ve done? The boy who could have wiped the floor with his father, who didn’t deserve what was done to him, but didn’t defend himself because he loved his bastard father and bastard brother?

I doubt it.

And if I were human, I wouldn’t have done it. Well, if I were human, I couldn’t have.

But what Johnny doesn’t know, couldn’t have known, will never know, is he is part of my flock. A flock I never planned on having, but mine nonetheless.

And ravens are not sweet and gentle birds who do nothing but twitter pleasantly and flee when danger arrives. We’re predators. And mischievous. And annoying. And you really don’t want to piss us off.

According to allaboutbirds.org, our wild brethren have contaminated power line insulators—we’re proud to say our poop is powerful—and caused power outages. We’ve annoyed the government by fouling satellite dishes and peeling radar-absorbent material off Navy buildings. What did the designers think would happen with all that bright and shiny? We peck holes in airplane wings because we can, and it keeps flying competitors grounded. We open campers’ tents because we want to know what the humans are hiding. We raid open cars because we’re courteous and never turn down an invitation. The “org” doesn’t know the half of it.

A raven flock will defend a member who is attacked, and when the attack is over, it’s over, no matter the outcome.

Not for me. Not for my flock.

I could not walk away, knowing what I knew. It was as impossible for me not to punish the Four, not to go after the others, as it would have been for me to shift to human form and stay that way forever.

I paid a price, of course. Not in weeping and wailing over my evil, wicked, bad and nasty ways, accompanied by the requisite beating of my chest—which has always struck me as kind of painful—but by becoming the Raven Prince in reality.

I have no idea what Raven Himself has in store for me. I’m sure it will be interesting, and hopefully it will one day include a mate. Without the whole mpreg thing.

I will Gloria Gaynor this, all over the place.

A final word.

Please remember…if a bird shits on you, don’t get angry.

Pause.

Think about what you did to deserve it. And mend your ways.

Birds are, as you now know, instruments of justice.

 

FIN