Page 29 of Cuervo's Carnival
13
Lola
“You’re getting closer,”the voice repeats.
The eerie call slithers its way to my neck, which begins to crank upward toward the blanket of darkness above me.
I have no control over my movements. Internally, I am screaming at my body to stop trying to stare at it, but the pull continues until my eyes are fixed on wings so ominous and widespread, it is as if I am immersed in a storm cloud.
Head tilted beneath its rich onyx plume, I tense, expecting an ear-piercing screech.
But it doesn’t make a sound. Instead, it glides its outstretched wings and begins to fly in a circle above my head. The quickened pace of its flight is dizzying, yet I can’t look away. The longer I am held captive by its taunting motion, the more the open air feels suffocating.
It continues flapping its wings overhead, until it abruptly swoops down in front of me, breaking me from the hypnotic state I was entranced in.
My heart rate increases, viciously booming against my ribcage, as the raven settles its black-as-night talons on a stack of dried hay off to the side.
I sit there on the dirt, watching it.
Waiting for it to make a move, a sound, something.
Anything, like I know it wants to.
It’s like a game we have begun to play together.
Then, after seconds that feel like hours have passed in this tense standoff, the raven begins to tilt its head to the side. Sluggish, methodic movements resume until its head and bill have created an eerie, ninety-degree angle.
Fascination mingles with curiosity, and I begin mimicking its tilted position.
Eye to eye, with our heads directly across from each other, I stare into its eyes when a tapping begins.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
Gaze still glued on the raven, the tapping continues, beating at my eardrums.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
I feel hands begin to curl themselves onto my forearm, but my neck feels like it is locked in place.
I’m frozen, transfixed.
And then, its head, hanging at an angle, snaps upward before it spreads its wings once more to soar into the storm clouds that fill the sky. My head follows it, watching it ascend in the sky that looks like it is swallowing it whole.
The tapping persists, somehow intensifying with each flap of its wings.
Tap after unrelenting tap rattles at my ears, until the raven is entirely out of sight.
And with its absence comes a gust of wind whipping at the side of my face, causing a sound to form from within me that feels like a knife lodged into my eardrum.
Then, the voice returns.
