The Crow: Fragile

Disclaimer:
I do not own James O'Barr's The Crow. For non-profit, entertainment purposes only. The persons, living or dead, and events described herein are fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

Author's Note:
This is my first time writing a Crow fan fiction. Please be kind. I haven't written anything in a long time, so I may be a little rusty. I was tossing up the idea of a Crow fan fiction last week when I watched all four Crow movies back-to-back. I hope you enjoy it. Any comments or constructive criticism about my work is greatly appreciated. Flames will be deleted without being read. Enjoy.

Summary:
This is a story that came into my head one day, after watching
Wicked Prayer. Jimmy and Lily had a little girl, who was born while Jimmy was in jail. After Lily and Jimmy were murdered, Lily's father, Harold, sadly gave Raven to a foster home, because she reminded him too much of what he had lost. This is Raven's story.

~::-|-::~

There's a place I go inside myself. It's warm and full of light. There are clouds floating by, lazily on a non-existent breeze, and sometimes, the light grows dim enough to see millions upon millions of stars all around me. If I had my way, I'd live there for eternity. It's usually the only place I feel safe anymore.

See, my mom died when I was only about two years old. I have this fuzzy memory of her, dark hair, blue eyes, holding me while I played with her necklace. She called me her special hosa. It means little raven. I was her little raven. She loved blackbirds and ravens and crows. That's what I've heard, anyway. I was put in a foster home when she died, because grandpa couldn't look after me.

My name is Raven Ignites The Dawn Cuervo. I am eighteen years old. And I am in serious danger.

~::-|-::~

Dear Jimmy and Lily,

It's been two months now since grandpa passed away. Two long months and I haven't had a decent night's sleep since. I'm not sure why. I feel anxious and scared and wish I could sleep. I've had terrible nightmares. Nightmares I can't explain. All I know is that I am surrounded by pain and death and it frightens me.

Uncle Tanner says it's the grieving process. I don't think so. Do you think that I have inherited your seeing eyes, Lily? Is this why I see people in my dreams that I don't even know?

Some of these people are really quite cruel. They have weapons and they come toward me like they want to hurt me. Just as they are about to kill me, I wake up in a cold sweat. Mrs Cummings says it might be repressed memories… or something I saw on TV. I have to remind her that I don't watch television. The repressed memories idea might be something though. Maybe I should go to a dream psychologist or something. They'd probably throw me in a nut house if they even tried to analyse my dreams. Maybe it's better if I keep these dreams between you two and me. For now at least.

Onto happier subjects, my job at the Mexico City Historic Center is going well. I'm keeping busy with all the information that I have to put into the computer. At least this means I don't have to face Marco or Leila. I've mentioned them before, haven't I? They're twins who like to make my life hell. They got jobs at the Historic Center around about the time I did and love to tease me about my name. I always tell them at least I have a story behind my name and it isn't common like their names. But their remarks are still pretty cutting.

But as much as I've waffled on for a page and a half, (it's probably time I get a new journal! The size of these pages is making me fill this one up faster than I thought!) I think it's time for me to sign off and start to make dinner. Mosi is meowing for his milk.

An ocean of love with a kiss on every wave,
Your daughter,
Raven

I closed the journal and looked around my small apartment. I hadn't mentioned it in the letter to my parents, but the day after tomorrow, I would be moving from Mexico City to start life in Illinois. I was journeying to live with my foster brother and closest confidant, Billy, until I found a job and my own place to live. It was strange, even after planning for so many months, part of me still felt unwilling to leave. I felt close to my parents in Mexico, and it felt like the Aztec Spirit Guides were trying to tempt me away from my decision to leave.

I put it down to pre-moving jitters and started toward the kitchen to make some dinner for myself. Mosi purred as he weaved through my legs and I picked him up.

"We're almost out of here, Mosi…" I whispered. "Away from Marco, away from Leila, away from these horrible nightmares." Mosi rubbed his head under my chin. He'd been my comfort on those many nights when I woke up crying. "A new life beckons to us…" I murmured, putting him on the floor so I could get him some milk.

About an hour later, sitting at the table, I nibbled at the cheese on toast that I had made myself. Truth be told, I wasn't very hungry. I had a horrible feeling in my gut that something bad was going to happen. I just didn't know what. Grandpa always said to trust my instincts, but just then, I didn't know what my instincts were trying to tell me.

"Mosi! Time to come inside!" I called softly, opening the back door, knowing he'd gone out mousing. "Mosi! Puss, puss!"

A dark figure on the grass caught my eye. I sighed. My neighbors always showed their disgust for me – a half Spanish, half Indian – by throwing their trash into my back garden. I was always finding bags of trash and old potato sacks there. But this shape looked smaller. Curiously, I moved toward it to see what it was this time. A towel? A rotting leg of lamb?

Suddenly, a cloud cleared away from the moon and I could see clearly what it was. I put a hand to my mouth to stifle my screams. Mosi… my dear, sweet Mosi, lay dead at my feet, a piece of cord wrapped tightly around his neck.