An Experimental Life

My short story, The Cemetery Girl grew from a novel I've been working on (and mucho thanks to Lane, Kij, Erick, Nate, and Aaron for writing advice.) I had originally intended to intersperse modern day action (written in a tight third-person simple past tense) with little flashbacks from the protagonist's childhood (written in present-tense, and in a more literary style), but came to realize that they really should be separate stories.

While I, of course, won't post the entire thing--either the novel or the short story--here is the first scene from the short story version, which is out awaiting editorial judgment.

Tamara Weaver is nine years old, and she is the only one who can see the crows. They are black-feathered meteorites hurling themselves across the October sky, trailing jagged blues and whites and yellows too bright to look at. They turn rain to steam and fill the world with a booming so great that there is no room for other voices.

They do this every time it storms.

Sometimes they smash themselves against the earth, and anything they touch—trees, buildings, anything—they destroy completely.

The only thing worse than seeing them is knowing that they are out there and not seeing them. So Tam sits at the window waiting for their brief appearances, trying not to whimper. She has never told anyone about them. No one would believe her, and why should they?

The crows are the most impossible things in the world. The crows are the most terrifying things in the world. The crows are the most beautiful things in the world.

If only it would never rain again.