NEW VERSION! Night one: The Girl With the Red Raven Feathers in Her Hair

The first story in a series of nine featuring the girl with the red raven feathers in her hair. If you like the art of story telling with a adult aimed fairy tale style then you'll like this.

In South Asia, where the days boil and the nights simmer, it is said there was a bird that once existed unique to that area: The South Asian Red Raven. The species dwindled into nothing long, long ago, and no official record is kept of it ever having existed at all. Except perhaps, if record of her one day proves to be anything more than an old wives tale, a story regarding a young girl no older than 18 who kept the bird’s feathers in her hair. She moved constantly throughout South Asia on foot. The last place she set her filthy foot in was a tiny village on the very outskirts of West India. It was considered so rural and isolated that no one actually grouped it with India itself or bothered giving it a name. On that day so long ago, in that town so far away, the South Asian red raven species moved from being endangered, to extinct and the girl was never seen again.

The girl with the raven feathers in her hair cooked meringues. In every place she set foot in. She didn’t need to carry equipment or utensils, because she was so well known for her meringues that when her leather feet touched the earth of a new city or town the shop keepers came running. As the baker did, in the small town in East India. He knew that if she allowed him to take her in and use his kitchen he would have enough business in that one day to feed his families and support the little town for the next month without work, as people from all over Asia rushed as fast as they could to the tiny, provincial town without a name.

The girl never asked for money, or payment in anything worth having. She asked simply for raven feathers. She would accept nothing except the red embellishment, for which she tucked in her hair with her collection of others. Killing one of the birds was forbidden as the species waned, and so people had to find other methods of getting a feather. First, a person would have to find one, then to sneak up on one, and pluck a feather from its body, like precious a jewel, only to watch the treasure chest shoot off in a flurry of angry squawks and chirps.

Then as tradition dictated (from which tradition is unclear, only that it was tradition), they quietly thanked the raven for its generosity for the gift they had given them, and then on that same day travelled as fast as they could to the little town where the baker, with a calm, pleased look in his eye, stood by his shop front, greeting the gathering crowd.

The raven feathered girl’s meringues were not particularly delicious, in fact, many knew better recipes and had better cooking talent. On Fridays, you could even taste salt in her poorly cooked dessert. It wasn’t the food that encouraged people to go for miles to find her raven feathers though, it was what she said to them when her hands touched theirs in passing their meringue.

Sometimes it was nothing. A quiet nod as she adjusted some feathers in her hair, a small smile. Other times it was what seemed like nothing. A strange language, of which only the word ‘octopus’ could be understood. Or a string of completely unrelated words. Sometimes the receiver would blink blankly in response, but smile at her never the less, and take their leave. Other times their eyes would snap open wide.

‘My dream,’ they would gasp, ‘that was in my dream.’

And everyone would look at her in awe as she used her strong arm to beat eggs and sugar together. Other times her words were far more substantial. Tell your mother you love her, before tomorrow night. Return home and look under the bed. Stay out of so and so’s way. The baby will be male. And her advice always proved to be of great importance, her predictions always proved to be right.

News about her spread faster than she travelled. Rumours about who or what she was accumulated. She could only be a reincarnation of Lord Ganesha himself, says the baker. While the jewellery seller only shakes her head when asked, her gold necklace with Jesus Christ hanging off it jangling against her neck, her lips tightly sealed from what seems like a mixture of disbelief and remorse. They all had their stories, their ideas about her. But there was one whose ideas were more meaningful than any other.

He was a broken boy. Some say his intentions were to capture her heart by offering more than any other. Others say it was simply curiosity. The baker tells the tale as if he had been there, explaining how it was all a terrible misunderstanding, a mistake. The jeweller just looks out to the horizon silently, unable to speak of the event.

The true reason was this: He was paid. He was desperate, a street rat with nothing to his name. He would be insane to pass up the opportunity of so much money. It wasn’t romantic, it wasn’t planned or thought over so many times that it sounded like the right thing to do, it was just a transaction. As cold as a winter’s morning.

The Raven Feathered girl had asked for payment first, she always did. He reached into his bag and pulled out something heavier than any feather could have been. It was strange, because she wasn’t beating, or cooking yet. Just standing behind a clean kitchen counter, watching her first customer of the day. As if waiting for him. He dropped the raven on the counter, still warm. Its feathers were as red as the blood that trickled across the table.

The girl plunked a glistening ruby tail feather from the lifeless form, and walked away. The crowd was too numb with shock to do anything, never would they consider killing something as rare and sacred as a raven, and they feared her response. Would she turn any moment now in fury? They almost anticipated a screamed curse, maybe the skies would open up and their town would be destroyed, maybe the drought would return. But she did nothing, just faded into the everlasting dust.

Author's Note

This is a new version of this story: Night one of nine (read the prologue before this if that made no sense). For those of you who have didn't read the first version, please tell me if you found this engaging or boring, and if you followed everything that happened even though the sentence construction is a little complex. Are sentences too long for you to follow? I talk about the girl travelling everywhere, as a person who is everywhere is south asia, but I try to focus her into on town on this particular day (the day the bird went extinct). Is this clear? That she is well known all over south asia but right now I'm talking about one day in this one town in india? If not do you have any suggestions? The town doesn't have a name, was that too confusing, should I just make up a name? Did you like it overall? I know the ending is quite abrupt, it is only the first chapter - it hasn't finished yet (: .

For those of who know of the first version, I thought I should address some of the things you pointed out to me that could make this story better -The fact that the boy seems more important than the girl: The last story in the series focuses purely on the boy. He is a major part of the nine stories altogether, which will be seen in the following chapters. The fact that meringues are a weird choice seeing as the story is set in asia: The girl is from the west, as will be highlighted in the following chapters. Sense of time: It is set in the past - no more satellites of telephones, I decided to just cut all that out so it was more focused. Well I thought this list was going to be longer but I can't remember any of the other things said right at this second...

Thank you all so much for reading.

Reviews

[TLK]

The first line doesn't really help to accentuate much about the piece for me. One problem is the typo in "sticky eyed lids". Another is that it is overlong. Mostly, the way that you say this does not indicate anything interesting about the teller: you are merely saying "this is an old and almost forgotten story".
Perhaps a framing device with the narrator quickly relating (one paragraph) searching for the story and finding it somewhere unexpected would do? Or maybe you just need to start telling the story instead.
The use of 'meringues' threw me somehwat: are these common in East Asia? I feek that a more exotic food-stuff would bring the reader in further. The last line of the first paragraph would interest me more if the shopkeepers were shown being more greedy -- this would intensify the feeling of the girl being used and the oddness of her asking only for feathers. It would also make sense later when they protect her from the mysterious pursuers.
Your exposition regarding the extinction of ravens comes rather late, and breaks the flow of my interest in the girl. I wonder whether it would be more fascinating if the narrator heard about the girl through their cataloguing of the history of the extinct raven: it would get this exposition out of the way and immediately captivate us in a story of a girl who is collecting mementoes of these disappearing birds.
"The people of East Asia were a respectful type however," this smacks me as a stereotype. Even though positive, I just can't believe it. I might be basing my antagonism on watching Kung Fu films regularly, but there you go.
The introduction of the boy comes from nowhere, and I think that this is a mistake. The boy is actually the person you want to explain -- the girl functions as a mystery to both the reader and to the other characters. The boy is the one who proactively acts on the world (killing the last raven) and the girl is the fast-fading 'soul-collector' who tidies up their last remains for some other-worldly reason. It is like a story about a statue being approached by a human who wants something from it -- the artfulness is in finding out more about the human as reflected in the statue.
Overall, I feel that this is actually a story about the boy who is finding out about (as we are) the girl and the red ravens.

[A.R. Elvira]

Thank for the review TLK, you brought up a lot of issues I really need to work on with this story. I've been wondering where this tale is really going and a lot of the things you're talking about are issues I am working through. I think at this point I'm planning to create a collection of short stories about the people in this town (including the boy) that the teller explains at the beginning in some non-cliche way that they were stories his grandmother used to tell him and they all centered around one town....Or something like, which would mean the town would become a character itself which is definitely not evident in this piece.
In doing that though I bring the teller into the scope (as you suggested) and can start telling the story without the over exaggerated opening sentence. Although it's all pretty rough in my head right now - I will start drafting soon.

As for the meringues - no, they don't belong in East Asia. If the story does belong to the teller's grandmother though, and the claim is that the town is imaginary, then they could be. In the end I may not even use East Asia, it's just something that rolled out on the page at the time. It's an issue that's been highlighted before - the context of when and where isn't right. I love having such character driven plots so much that I often disregard the sense of the world around them.

Thanks again for such a considered review, posts like yours are what make me a better writer, so I really appreciate it, I will work to fix some of the issues you highlighted.

[TLK]

If the town is a character, then the town could tell stories. Perhaps the narrator lives in the town, and after being put to bed hears something. Perhaps the town is speaking directly to the narrator, or to us. Or maybe relics are discovered that tell this story.

I suggest this because you explain your work as:
"magical realism, plots with dream like qualities, elements of magical or mythical story telling".

My advice is to push these as far as they can go, and then pull it back later in editing. I personally find it easier to replace excess magic with the mundane, rather than the other way 'round.

[A.R. Elvira]

hmm. Actually the town itself telling the story is an interesting idea...Thanks for the suggestion! Definitely keen to get some serious work done on this one.

[4$H]

One word.... AMAZING, no improvements needed, just take it further k? :)

[A.R. Elvira]

Will do! Thanks for reading!

[4$H]

Anytime :)

[haymaker14]

BEST.STORY.EVER. This is VERY engaging, and you tell the story well! It is very clear and the imagery is simply AMAZING! Welcome to WrtersCafe, you fit right in with the upper class, for you seem REAL (meaning you don't act fake and you know you make mistakes. If you understand what I am getting at) and your writing is very interesting.Good Job!

[A.R. Elvira]

oh dear, how lovely of your to say so! Thanks so much, I really appreciate such flattering comments, it's so encouraging. I'm glad you think it's engaging and clear...I guess I'm developing a pretty intense style in terms of imagery and wonder if it's all too much sometimes - but I'm glad to hear you don't think so. Thanks again!

[haymaker14]

NP! Remember, imagery can never be to much! :)

[Chloe]

Woah. I didn't expect that. The ending shocked me a bit. It was a great fable, and it had twists and turns aplenty. For such a short story, it is saying a lot. It teaches that you shouldn't kill something out of curiosity, or wealth, or a motive impure. For when one link is removed, the entire chain falls apart. Great job.

[A.R. Elvira]

Hey Chloe (: . Thanks so much! I'm so glad you talked about the deeper morals - the chain particularly. In the end it's just a fable so I'm glad you could see that past the vagueness and complex imagery. Thank you!