Flash Fiction | On My Mind

“I think we should break up,” the boy said over the chatter of the cafe. “Coffees’ on me.”

He left the girl sitting alone at a table for two, her fingers still wrapped tightly around her coffee cup. A sinking feeling grew in her chest. The cafe seemed to fall away around her until it was just her and her Americano. She stared vacantly at the steam rising from her bitter drink-of-choice, fighting back hot tears.

In the beginning, the girl felt the raven there all the time—an all-consuming and unceasing presence.

A solitary black bird that only she could see, it had bright onyx eyes and a short stubby beak set in a jet plumage. It nested atop her head, flitting about in her hair, cooing in her ear and pecking at her thoughts.

It followed her from before she opened her eyes in the morning to after she closed them at night and every moment in between.

Like when she woke up and he wasn’t there to tell her good morning.

When she stepped in the elevator and he wasn’t there to kiss her as soon as the doors closed.

When she took the bus to work and he wasn't there to drive her with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh.

When she heard their song play through her headphones and he wasn’t there to sing along with her.

When she watched the series they used to watch together and he wasn't there for the season finale.

And when she fell asleep and he wasn’t there to tell her goodnight.

But there were some moments when the girl felt the raven most.

Like when she entered the cafe for a cup of coffee and saw the boy again.

“What can I get for you today? The usual?” the barista chirped.

“Yes, one Americano please...” she trailed off.

In a sea of people, her eyes always searched for his. And this time, she found them staring into the eyes of another.

The raven began to caw, echoing in her head louder than ever before.

She dashed out of the cafe.

“Wait,” the barista called after her. “You forgot your coffee!”

The raven swooped down, dive-bombing her. Its caws surrounded her, growing so raucous that the noise of the traffic was drowned out. Without warning, she was hit from above with a relentless flurry of wings, talons and beak.

“Stop following me! Just leave me alone!” she begged, crouching to the ground. “Please… just leave me alone.”

Then, the girl only felt the raven there sometimes.

It followed her still, but at a distance. Instead, it floated over her head with the swift flutter of a wing. Sometimes, it perched nearby or waited for her outside. She even began to grow used to its presence, learning to live with her unlikely feathered guest.

Like when she woke up and started making herself breakfast.

When she stepped in the elevator and smiled at the neighbour she never acknowledged before, sometimes even talking about work and the weather.

When she skipped their song when it played through her headphones.

When she enjoyed taking the bus to work, looking out of the window and watching the world go by.

When she chose nights out with friends after work over nights in by herself. They talked and laughed and sometimes, even flirted.

And when she fell asleep with the blanket all to herself.

In time, the girl entered the cafe again for a cup of coffee.

She looked across the cafe, her eyes falling to the table where she sat the last time the boy bought her coffee. She felt a twinge in her chest that she hadn’t in awhile. The raven descended and perched atop her head once more.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile!”, the barista greeted her. “What can I get for you today? The usual—an Americano?”

She hesitated.

“No, I think I’ll have a latte today instead please. To-go.”

“Oh, finally letting go of the old favourite?” he teased with a twinkle in his eye.

She smiled. “Yes, it’s about time—I think I’m ready for something new.”

And as the girl stepped out of the cafe clutching her latte, the raven took flight. Spreading its wings, it soared into the sky. As she watched it disappear into the horizon, a bittersweet feeling washed over her. You can’t keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, she thought, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.