Mika
Mika. Mika was a raven. He had glossy but rumpled feathers that he never seemed to preen. I met him when I was fifteen years old in a humid day that never seemed to end.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-
Coming back from school was honestly a drag, monotonous and completely boring. It had been a difficult day and it was all I could do to put one foot in front of the other. Until I heard a weirdly choked croaking sound. I thought about stopping, but then figured it was just my imagination. But the moment I stepped forward, I heard it again. The raspy croak came again. Out of sheer curiosity and hunched over and began exploring for the source of the sound. It came from a messy heap of--I had no idea what that was--in someone’s front yard. Cautiosly, I inched toward that ruffled bundle. The ruffled bundle raised its jet-black head... and croaked. A bird! What was a bird doing lying in someone’s yard? The raven cocked his head and struggled a bit, releasing another harsh croak. There was plastic, hard white plastic, entwining his neck, confining his wings, encircling his body. I squatted in front of him, wondering what to do.
His beady black eyes blazed with intelligence, and he seemed to be asking a question.
“Grawk,” he croaked, pleadingly. “Grawk?”
After a moment more of silent staring, I finally moved.
“Okay, Mr. Grawk. I’ll help you get out of this. Just promise not to bite me, okay?”
The raven fluttered his wings as much as he could in response, as if to say, “I promise.”
I decided to start with the feet, where I was least likely to injure him. Grawk--for I did not think of what else to call him--waited patiently for me to finish untangling him. When I completed the job, I expected him to shoot off into the sky like an arrow, but all he did was stretch out his wings and make short hopping motions, occasionally lifting off, but never reaching any altitude above my height. This peculiar way of motion continued until Grawk was out of sight. I sighed, feeling a strange pang in my chest. I didn’t want to stop on my way home, but now I wanted to stand still and...
It didn’t matter. I had to get home. Forget Grawk.
Thirteen Days Later
The back yard is a perfect place to get some alone time away from working, little brothers, nagging jobs, and relatively, the heat of the house. I sat in one of the chairs I have for this purpose. Hard, white... not plastic. But it made me think of Grawk all the same. I sighed, not wanting to think about him. To pass the time I had, I decided to read from one of my favourite manga series and eat some strawberries. I was completely absorbed in my book until...
“Grawk.”
I nearly fell out of my chair. The raven was perched on a railing supporting the deck cover. He ruffled his wings as if to say, “Remember me?”
“Grawk, is that you?”
He hopped off the railing and landed about two feet from my toes. Hopped, not flew. It was Grawk.
“Graaaaaaawk?”
″....fine. I’ll give you some strawberry.”
This I tossed, which he promptly gulped down.
“Grawk!”
“What do you want, Grawk? How did you know where I live?” I asked, tossing another bit of strawberry high into the air.
Grawk leaped up with surprising acrobatics for his seemingly crippled state and caught the strawberry in his beak. He reminded me of one of the characters in my manga, somehow, crippled in a way, but still amazingly mobile in more ways than one. With this in mind...
“Grawk,” I began.
He peered at me, probably anticipating more food.
I felt stupid. I was talking to a bird. However, I went on.
“Grawk, how would you like a new name? You’re a brave bird, and you seem quite smart too. How would you like to be Mika?”
He kept staring, eyes shining.
I went on dramatically. “Raven Mikaela, thou shalt be dubbed!”
Mikaela, or Mika, as I am sure he would rather be called, grawked once more. Either he agreed with his name, or he just wanted more strawberry. I will never know.
Present Day, Sunday the Fourteenth of July, 4:24 A.M.
I have... I have been thinking. For years, Mika has been visiting me at least weekly, for food or otherwise, and I have grown rather fond of him. As one who spends more time with books than humans, he had become a close friend and confident. I knew he would never spill my secrets, unless people suddenly understood the meaning of “Grawk!” However, since last month I have not seen him, or heard him, at all. One may say it is not unusual for a wild animal not to appear for a month. However, my Mika has faithfully come at least every week, save for an exception during a particularly unfriendly snow. Now in the fair weather of summer, it is truly strange to find him missing. I only hope that he is well and enjoying his food, hopping his strange little hop about the city. And if he is not... perhaps one day I will see him again, soaring on unbroken wings and never faltering on his journey.