The Sunflowers are Bleeding

The likelihood of dying from a third-story apartment is about a sliver less than, say, a four-story apartment, which is in turn just a sliver below the point of potential absolute death. Now, depending on if one falls on one’s head is an entirely different factor that drastically changes the statistics of life and death, but at least the end of one’s life would be less painful and in fact just be a flash of concrete before one’s eyes right before it’s lights out and nothingness.

Sebastian knows this, of course, because the crows told him.

He sits on his perch on his modified window where he broke open the screen so he can dangle a leg off the ledge and feel the rush of anticipation buffeting his heart. When he first sat with the divot of his spine pressed against the jut of the window frame, one leg hanging over uncertainty and the other tucked safe against his chest, the crows cawed and crowed their displeasure at him from above.

“Away, away!” they called to him, and the urgency of their tone startled him more than the fact of words dropping from their open beaks, “One wrong move and it’s human carcass for dinner! It’s not very good.”

“Don’t worry your feathers,” Sebastian had told them, and one swooped in and made itself comfortable on his lap, “I won’t fall.”

Another had landed on the ledge of the building and stared up at him with voids for eyes and puffed-up chest feathers. “Harumph! Don’t say we didn’t tell you so because we did, yes we did.”

From there, the frantic murder of birds fluttered about and insisted on the omen of his death should he continue to sit upon his perch; regaled him with the details of height versus death and the fragility of human bones when faced with gravity. Birds, they said, are far more superior to humans. They can spread their wings and be caught in the palm of gravity’s grace, safe from the ground’s unforgiving stubbornness. They dominate the skies. But humans are flightless, featherless, and, Sebastian quotes, “rather ugly creatures, worse than a freshly hatched chick.”

The crows are interesting, to say the least, and have much to say. Because they do speak, as he later pieced together after being bamboozled by their sudden fanaticism, and only to him—something he discovered after an experiment with a friend only made her concerned about his need for a therapist. He doesn’t blame her, of course. Crows speaking? Absurd. But the things they do say are arguably more absurd than the idea itself, and he has to bear witness to their unusual squawking and crowing at all hours of the day after that fateful encounter. But at least he has constant entertainment.

**

The crows are such gossips.

As it were, Sebastian is again sitting on the open frame of his window, one leg dangling towards imminent death and one pressed against a rushing heart, and the crows are scattered all over his apartment. They had flooded it the second he opened the window, greeting him with impatient knocks on the glass and disgruntled grunts and gravely huffs. Ebony feathers stuck to his lips and hair before he shook them away, then he felt the dig of delicate feet in his shoulder and the nuzzle of a keratin nose. His favorite gossip.

For now, the two sit in contented silence as Sebastian gazes out over the lazy city. Dolport is technically a city, but it’s so sprawling over the uneven terrain, and the people so resistant to modernization, that it looks more like a quiet town in any given neighborhood. Skyscrapers are nonexistent; apartment buildings are the tallest buildings that the eye can see, with the exception of churches and the occasional bank that wants to be fancy and so awe-inspiring people are more willing to trust their money to them. Every open space is an unofficial park, named after one of the roads it sits against. It’s peaceful, if a bit boring. Pretty. Sebastian has a bit of a soft spot for pretty things.

Tango ducks her head under his hand in a demand for attention, and he absently scratches the top of it as he watches a mother wrangle her children into her car. It takes exactly seven minutes and 42 seconds, and then another two minutes and 36 seconds pass before she drives away. Tango pecks at his cuticle.

“There’s a new flower shop, down by South Santa Rosa,” she says. Her mostly white body gleams in the morning dawn, and the black splotches sparkle in weak reflections of orange and pink. The only hooded crow within the flock—and the nosiest. At least she doesn’t squawk about all the time. Tango cocks her head, then tries to shimmy her way into getting pets along her back. Sebastian allows her the con, and she clacks her beak in her form of thanks.

Sebastian waits a moment, then prompts, “What about it?”

More beak clacks. Her tail feathers wag. Excitement. “We taste magic leaking from the walls.”

Magic? Instinct wants to say that magic isn’t real, but Sebastian is speaking to a crow named Tango with the rest of her murder making themselves at home within his apartment. He has nests of blankets and ripped up pillows all over the place just for them. Magic was only a steppingstone beyond that over the river of incredulity.

He runs his touch down Tango’s spine, and she looks up at him with eyes that see and reflect everything and nothing. “What sort of magic?” he asks.

“We don’t know.” With a quick beat of her wings, Tango jumps up to land on his shoulder and roots her beak through his hair. He doesn’t need to see it to know the colors blend together. “It is neither sinister nor seductive, no draw of harm or help. It exists. We don’t like it.”

Sebastian’s lip quirks up. “You don’t like not knowing,” he corrects. She snaps her beak in his ear.

“You could do the knowing,” she muses, and he can tell her casual tone is put-upon. Crows are sneaky, smart, but they don’t quite have a handle on the human nuance of lying. This was her plan all along. “Tell us things for once.”

His gaze catches on the hill that hides Santa Rosa from view, but he imagines he can see the southern edge of it. The deadness that infests the empty lots and creeps like vines into the roots of the neighborhood. An odd place for a flower shop. A perfect place for magic. “Maybe I will.”

**

Though Dolport is a city of community and expansive nothingness, meaning not a lot happens in terms of the unpleasant save for the local mad man on the frits asking for a firstborn in exchange for gold-foiled chocolates, Sebastain rarely leaves his apartment building. One reason being that he has most everything he needs and wants in that isolated space—entertainment, a kitchen to cook his delivered ingredients, and his computer where he does his work. But the largest reason, the one currently haunting him during his jaunt, is that he carries with him a flock of needy crows with separation anxiety.

Tango leads the murder, a beacon of white and black within a cloud of cawing ebony, as they go on ahead to their destination (but not too quickly). Tricket balances on his shoulder in a back-and-forth dance, and Arthur hops and flutters ahead with his signature sword (sharpened stick) clutched in his beak. Others—Skully, Kiwi, Paprika, Harpy, and Gator—circle and dive around Sebastian as he walks like he needs a personal flying escort. It’s hard to deny that they belong to him, in some way, and Sebastian is slightly afraid of becoming another local mad man. Only slightly, because he has a feeling that he already is one.

They pass a jewelry shop, where the owner is hanging up signs for a new sale and setting up a table full of cheap alternatives to entice customers to come inside for the better merchandise. Tricket also spots the table and makes a beeline for it before Sebastian can stop her. There’s a bit of a literal squabble as she snatches one of the items, and Sebastian ducks out of sight to avoid being put to blame for a bird’s eye for shiny objects and penchant to steal them. It takes only a moment for him hear the flutter of her wings as she lands back on his shoulder, her prize—a silver necklace housing only a poorly antiqued depiction of a monstera leaf—hanging proudly from her beak.

“Happy with yourself?” he asks. Tricket raises her head as if to say yes, yes she is, before she taps his neck with a foot and holds it out. Confused, Sebastian holds out a hand and the necklace drops into his palm.

She’s far too pleased with herself. “For you! It’s very shiny.” And it is, because the antiquing process didn’t quite pull itself off quite right. But Sebastian knows better than to refuse a crow’s gifts, so he puts the necklace on and tucks it beneath his shirt collar.

The little thief is still preening and staring, so Sebastian begrudgingly gives her chest a little scratch and says, “Thank you, it’s really pretty.”

Tricket flaps her wings. “I know!”

Up ahead, Arthur swats at a mouse with his sword (stick). The others continue to swoop all around their human companion, and Sebastian sighs to himself. This is going to be a long walk.

**

Finally, they reach the south side of Santa Rosa—a Dolport neighborhood that had once been renowned for its abundance of flourishing parks, greenhouses, and community gardens. The northern side is still relatively the same as it’s always been, though recently the “flourishing” part has been up for debate, but the south side is a whole other story. Some say a curse befell the people, others say a sickness swept through, too fast for the people to thwart and too deadly for the soil to ever recover. A few whispers daresay magic, an angry witch who had been wronged. Sebastian doesn’t know what to think, and the crows never had a good answer for him either.

But now, as they cross the threshold that marks South Santa Rosa, he can feel it. The looming ghosts of life wiped clean off the map. Trees groan under their own dying weight and come close to collapsing over abandoned homes. Dirt swirls in the wind and over cracked asphalt, while patchy tufts of dry and scraggly brown grass refuse to wither away. Sebastian can taste the dryness of the air, the lack of green keeping it alive and youthful. He has to take extra breaths.

Gator—named so after he decided to fight an alligator once and has the self-preservation of a rock—lands on Sebastian’s free shoulder and ducks his head. “I do not like this place. There’s not even enough life to create death for us to eat. We’d starve.”

He concurs, though for slightly different reasons. Sebastian nudges his nose against Gator’s neck. “Good thing you live by me, then, hm?”

“Yes,” Gator agrees, “Very good thing. Though we still fear we’ll have to eat you once you fall.”

Rolling his eyes, Sebastian ignores that comment and continues on, looking for a lone flower shop in a world full of decay. It doesn’t take long, just a few turns around dusty blocks and following Tango’s hoarse call from above, and he knows he would’ve spotted it on his own without the murder’s help.

Windows full of bright, happy plants press against the glass so much he can’t see inside. Outside are hanging baskets overflowing with flowers and leaves, and he reaches up to curl a finger around the tail of a searching vine. The grass on the other side of the sidewalk is thick and green, greener than maybe even the rest of Dolport’s grass. On the door is a painted OPEN sign in handwriting that is more flourish than letter. Around him, the crows crow and flutter with an anxiety that radiates off of them. Sebastian reassures them that he’ll be fine, then heads in alone.

Inside is just as disorienting as the outside with the sheer amount of flora crammed into every nook and cranny. It’s almost claustrophobic, but Sebastian can breathe easier in here, so he ignores that feeling in favor of finding the shopkeeper. An eerie feeling of being watched follows him through his perusal, and he swears he catches the faces of the flowers turning in his direction no matter where he stands in the shop, like he’s the sun to their sunflower. Petals of all colors, even ones he’s never seen before, assault his vision with every blink. Unusual hues and gradients paint patterns all across the shop. It’s supernatural. It’s magic.

“So, the King of Crows has paid me a visit.” Sebastian whirls around to see a stout woman perched on the counter he had seen empty just a moment ago. She smiles at his surprise and crosses her legs while leaning back. “I thought I saw a few of your friends poking around my shop a bit ago, so I tidied up a bit to be ready for your arrival. What do you think?”

King of Crows—that’s a new one. Or really, the only one. Sebastian opens his mouth to correct her but decides against it and instead surveys the shop once more, noting how the ceiling has plants winding around exposed beams. “It’s… beautiful. And a bit much.”

The shopkeeper laughs, and the sound is both perfect and off-kilter. “Fair enough. Suppose I couldn’t expect a master of death to appreciate an abundance of life.”

This time, he does correct her. “Death is inevitable, so it would make no sense to quarrel with life when in the end, everything becomes its domain. I can appreciate all the life in here, it really is gorgeous, but I think it would do to be a bit less crowded so people can appreciate everything without being overwhelmed.”

Sebastian is afraid he’s offended her—who is he to comment on how she runs her place—but she lights up with pure glee. “You’re so right. Tell me, King of Crows, what do you do, besides claim the inevitable?”

He shrugs. “I help people. Sort of.” He waves over to the door, where the murder sits and waits for him to return to them. “The crows tell me things, and sometimes it’s useless, but I’ve managed to set up a system where I contact people anonymously about issues that get brought to my attention and help them work through it. The crows love it because they get to be nosy, and I can influence people without getting directly involved. Plus, I can set my own hours.”

The additional look he sends her is not missed, though. She grins and shrugs as well, then leans forward to touch his chest. Since when did he stand right in front of her? He stands still as she dips her fingers beneath his collar and brings out the monstera leaf necklace. “Just as you said, death is not always a villain, only an inevitability. I’m happy you’ve chosen the kinder route, though.”

Meeting her eyes only takes a slight look upward, even with her sitting on the counter. “You’ve yet to tell me who you are.”

Her stare turns into a mocking type of seductive, though her smile remains bubbly. “Surely your friends know what I am.”

What—not who. So, magic it is. “That’s why I’m here—they can’t parse you out, and that annoys them. I’m also, admittedly, intrigued.”

“As am I,” she agrees, and inspects the monstera once again. Swipes a thumb over the silver. “One more question: if I were a man, would you be more inclined to me?” At his confused brow raise, she laughs again, this one less perfect and more of a snort. “Nevermind, I rather like you like this. More fun to talk to, and maybe work with in the near future.”

He answers anyway, even if he’s thoroughly confused. “I’m not inclined to anyone.”

“Ah.” She drops the pendant and leans just slightly out of his space. “Even better, I suppose. My name’s Chiana, and plants are my sacred purpose. I nurture them, protect them, and this is a land in dire need of my healing touch. I could do it on my own, but it would be much easier if I had the help of others to spread my influence and bring this place back to how it once was.”

Sebastian takes only a few seconds to connect the dots she laid out. Myths had been a favorite obsession of his as a child. “You’re a nymph,” he says, then slightly more baffled, “Did you try to seduce me into helping?”

Chiana grins and her eyes glitter with laughter. “Maybe. But I would appreciate your help.” She makes a wide gesture, as if encompassing the whole world. “Imagine what we could do together, the King of Crows and a nymph of the wilds, sowing the seeds of life back into a dead land. You can reach the ends of this city without lifting a finger, and I can create all of this at just a moment’s notice. I’m sure we could get this place back to its former glory, and maybe even surpass its legacy.”

Looking back at all the plants in the shop, Sebastian imagines them all over Santa Rosa, all over Dolport, and can only see a supernatural beauty that he strangely wants to be a part of. “I’m not magic like you,” he points out, but it’s hardly an argument.

Hands frame his face and bring his attention back to Chiana. “You’re more magic than you realize. Besides, you’ll have me and your friends at your side, and that’s more than enough to make the magic happen.” Letting go with a nudge to his nose, she smiles and asks, “So, what do you say?”

Sebastian’s smile is a softer reflection of hers. “I say this place will be filled with life as the crows fly. And I’m going to need a new apartment.”

**

“You’re that raven guy, right?”

Sebastian turns toward the voice and sees a man batting away the vines of a curious ivy. “I’m the crow guy, yeah. How can I help you?”

Seemingly giving up the fight, the man leaves the ivy alone and faces Sebastian. The plant tucks itself against his neck. “My girlfriend lives on the other side of the city, and I wanted to give her some plants as a surprise birthday gift. She really loves growing them, and I think she’d really like what you guys have.”

Behind Sebastian, Chiana emerges from the greenhouse in the back and leans into his side. He can’t see it, but he knows she’s making heart eyes and has a glowing smile. She loves it when men think of their lovers. “Of course, of course,” she says, “Just take a look around and we’ll send off a small fleet to get whatever you pick out to her. Were you thinking seeds or sprouts?”

The man gives the ivy a side-eye as it continues to curl into him like a cuddle. “Both? I don’t know, depends on what you guys have.”

Sebastian waves a hand at the full shop. “We have everything.”

That leaves him stumped, but he peruses the selection anyway when Chiana points out the catalogue Sebastian had put together.

When he disappears behind a wall of green, Chiana tugs at the monstera pendant hanging from Sebastian’s neck and draws his attention to her. She’s grinning, eyes glittering, and she looks every part human and nymph wrapped into one small package. “Did you hear that?”

It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes, but he manages. “You mean the part about him taking business to the other side of the city, or the fact that he’s getting his girlfriend a gift?”

“Both!” Chiana throws her hands up and does a victory twirl. Up above, the crows shout down their rating of her dance and flap about in their own versions. Tango flutters down to land on Sebastian’s head, and Chiana grins at them both. “Think about it: in just four months, we’ve already got influence all over this place. And if she talks about how wonderful and amazing her boyfriend is—”

“That’s literally the bare minimum.”

“—then people will ask where he got her the plants, and she’ll tell them about us, and voila! More business!”

Arthur pokes his head down, for once not carrying his sword (stick) in his beak, though he is wearing a makeshift harness resembling armor that Chiana made for him. “Does that mean more people we can bother?”

“Not bother, you nitwit,” Tango crows up at him, and Sebastian has to transfer her to his hand to avoid getting scratches in his scalp, “We are helping, remember?” He would’ve been proud of her had she not then immediately turned to Sebastian to ask, “So we can harass more people, yes?”

He sighs as Chiana laughs. “Yes, more people for you to harass. Gently. We’d like to keep getting customers, you know, not drive them off with crazy crows.”

Arthur flaps his wings all dignified like. “We would never.” The rest of the roosting murder concur from their spots up in the rafters, and Sebastian can’t help but be happy. Happy for them, for having a purpose that they enjoyed and happy for him and his new life. He glances over at Chiana, all smiles and giggles with her face tilted up towards the crows as they chatter amongst themselves. Happy for her, too, for doing exactly what she wanted and bringing life back to Santa Rosa, and Dolport as a whole. He can’t think of a better way for things to turn out for them all.

Up above, Paprika tilts her head and presumably watches the customer as he flips through the catalogue. “Poor sop looks about ready to tears. And keeps mumbling to himself.” She turns and looks to them, and he’s never seen a crow look so stressed. “Is that normal human behavior?”

Chiana laughs and pats Sebastian on the shoulder. “Looks like he needs some help. Man the counter for me, yeah?” Her quick glance is all squinted eyes and bright joy.

“Don’t freak him out too much,” he says, and gives her a parting ruffle of hair. She snaps her teeth at him in retaliation, but quickly hurries over to the man to help him pick out something. Their voices are muffled by the wall of plants, but Sebastian distinctly hears her say something about taking the ivy for himself while he’s at it. It certainly does look a bit wilty without him next to it.

There’s a flutter of wings from above as a small group of crows dive through their special hatch, back from a trip to some other part of the city. Kiwi is among them, and she leaves them as they head for food to instead fly up to him. “You won’t believe the tea I heard while delivering those seeds. I’ve been dying to tell you the entire flight back! Okay, so…”

With Chiana coaxing the customer to get everything he thinks his girlfriend would like, including the ivy, and the crows above picking at one another while Kiwi fills him in on the latest gossip, Sebastian feels a certain contentment he hasn’t felt in years. He’s got a friend and roommate at his side who likes to pick on him for his rather aloof nature, a home full of more than just the necessities, and a job that brings life into people’s lives instead of simply helping them from the sidelines. He never thought that a simple request from a crow like Tango would lead to a complete upheaval of his way of living, but things are never what they seem with crows.

Yeah, this life is better than the alternative he was living just a few months ago.