SwordStitcher-He once thought I was some sort of hormone-crazed fangirl. Fought me tooth and nail when I tried to strip him. I don't remember that. You were hallucinating. Why were you forcibly removing my clothing? Ice bath. Oh. Um...that's...that's nice. She probably did sit up with me, grudgingly though it may have been. The doctor told her I could have died. I was very good about not dumping my broccoli down the sink after that.
It doesn't take him long to learn to curl up in a very tight ball and not make a sound when she shoves him in here. Usually they come anyway, but at least he can say he didn't encourage them.
They've left for the time being, left him here bleeding in the dust and straw, but they'll come back. They always do.
He is completely and utterly alone.
He takes a shuddery breath and uncurls as much as he dares. The crows do not come back. Good.
He wishes he had a scarecrow in here. It works in the fields, why wouldn't it work in here?
The scarecrow would be tall, he thinks, and made mostly of burlap and straw, like the one outside. Maybe it could move, scare the crows away. Maybe it could even break their necks, like Granny has him do when they hit the windows and can't fly.
He rubs a scar on his thumb from one of them. It still makes him sick, that little snick of breaking bone.
But never mind. Scarecrows don't care about that sort of thing. They can't, or they're not good scarecrows.
He wonders what it would sound like. Probably gravely, being made of straw and everything.
Heya, kid.
Yes. Just like that.
Hi, Straw Man.
Want some company?
Yes, please.
Even though he's imagining it, it's nice to have a friend.
THE END