tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83533782180700620392024-02-19T23:42:38.544-08:00Tell Me a Storya.e. neehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339779756854212257noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353378218070062039.post-87266580225876283512008-01-21T09:16:00.000-08:002008-01-21T09:17:23.465-08:00<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: courier new;" align="center"><b style="">Chapter 3: Reason #2<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: courier new;" align="center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;">As Simon grew, the stress of his family life caused him to develop nervous ticks.<span style=""> </span>He would blink and blink and hunch his shoulders, raising them up to his ears.<span style=""> </span>When he did this it almost looked as though he didn’t have a neck.<span style=""> </span>It almost looked as though he were evolving into what his parents always said he was, a crow’s boy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;">Simon’s cry sounded so like the “caw-caw” of a crow that his mother would scold or ignore him whenever he made the sound.<span style=""> </span>It sent shivers up her spine to hear it. Soon Simon learned to believe that he was better off making no sounds at all.<span style=""> </span>No fussing, no crying, no bumbling baby words.<span style=""> </span>Simon, would just look through his silent black eyes, blinking and hunching his shoulders.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;"><span style=""> </span>Make no mistake, Mrs. Loomin loved her little boy.<span style=""> </span>There was a warm fuzzy place in her heart that ached for him.<span style=""> </span>But Mrs. Loomin could not let him into that warm fuzzy part of her heart because it was barred by her fear of the crows.<span style=""> </span>Every time she thought of Simon she thought of the empty fields, the empty cabinets, the empty warm fuzzy spot in her heart, and she was hurt and angry.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;">When Simon could walk, Mr. and Mrs. Loomin would let him wander freely about their property.<span style=""> </span>Simon loved to practice his toddling steps out in the open empty fields.<span style=""> </span>The crows watched him.<span style=""> </span>He did not scream at them.<span style=""> </span>He did not swing around wet laundry.<span style=""> </span>He did not try to shoot them with a gun.<span style=""> </span>The crows liked Simon.<span style=""> </span>At first they just watched him.<span style=""> </span>After all, he was a human.<span style=""> </span>He did not look like a crow to them.<span style=""> </span>They could see that he had the soft exposed skin, the long arms and fingers that could be found on boys and girls and that were always absent from the bodies of birds.<span style=""> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;">As they grew more comfortable with Simon, the crows would follow him.<span style=""> </span>Landing lightly on the ground behind him and lifting themselves into the air with their broad black wings whenever he’d turn around.<span style=""> </span>Soon though, they would let him look at them and walk closer.<span style=""> </span>Eventually the crows and Simon came to be friends.<span style=""> </span>The little boy would play hide and seek, and tag and sit and have silent chats with his crow friends.<span style=""> </span>People began to notice the strange boy with his flock of feathered friends.<span style=""> </span>People began to talk amongst themselves, at first in whispers, growing more bold.<span style=""> </span>People called him “Crow Boy.”<span style=""> </span>Mr. and Mrs. Loomin, when they heard this nickname, did not argue or defend their son.<span style=""> </span>No, they only nodded, as if they’d known it all along.</p>a.e. neehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339779756854212257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353378218070062039.post-32847031431864906952008-01-09T18:47:00.000-08:002008-01-09T18:48:32.703-08:00<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: courier new;" align="center"><b style="">Chapter Two: Reason #1<span style=""> </span><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>To understand Simon’s reasoning it will help to know a little of his past.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Simon was the first born child of Mr. George and Mrs. Celia Loomin.<span style=""> </span>The Loomins lived on an old farm out in the hills of eastern <st1:place st="on"><st1:state st="on">Kentucky</st1:State></st1:place>.<span style=""> </span>Mr. and Mrs. Loomin were a poor couple.<span style=""> </span>They were poor because they could not grow corn.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>You see, if you go back a bit in history—before Sheila saw “Crow Boy” on the mountain, before Mr. and Mrs. Loomin gave him his name, before Mr. and Mrs. Loomin were even born—Great-great-great-great Grandfather Loomin stepped onto a piece of land and shouted to the empty space around him, shaking his fist in the air;</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“On this land corn will grow!”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">That is how the Loomin farm began.<span style=""> </span>It has been a corn growing farm ever since.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>But Mr. George and Mrs. Celia Loomin could not grow corn.<span style=""> </span>They blamed it on the crows.<span style=""> </span>The fact is crows had lived on this farm as long as any Loomin and corn had always grown before. This fact did not matter to Mr. Loomin.<span style=""> </span>He insisted, “It’s them crows makin’ us poor, Mrs. Loomin, or my name is Prince Charmin’!”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Well, Mrs. Celia knew her husband was not Prince Charming, so she too began to blame the crows.<span style=""> </span>When she saw them, perched on her clothesline, staring black eyes and dark iridescent wings, she shivered.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“It’s all your fault,” she would yell, swinging at them with handfuls of wet laundry, “it’s all your fault!”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">The night when Simon was born his father said to his mother,</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;"><span style=""> </span>“Mrs. Loomin, thems stolen this from us too.<span style=""> </span>Thems blasted crows.”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“What could he mean?” Mrs. Loomin wondered out loud. </p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>The midwife timidly placed the baby boy in his mother’s arms.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Loomin looked at her baby.<span style=""> </span>She said nothing.<span style=""> </span>The baby, Simon, began to cry.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Loomin looked at her baby.<span style=""> </span>She said nothing.<span style=""> </span>One of Simon’s little hands with curled finger tips reached out from his blanket.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Loomin looked at her baby.<span style=""> </span>She saw in him the crows that perched on her clothesline.<span style=""> </span>Mrs. Loomin spoke,</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“It’s all your fault.<span style=""> </span>It’s all your fault.”</p>a.e. neehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339779756854212257noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8353378218070062039.post-10694732809998364072008-01-08T18:35:00.000-08:002008-01-08T18:42:45.609-08:00Sheila the Wonder Dog and Crow Boy: Chap. 1<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: courier new;" align="center"><b style="">Chapter One: Camping</b><br /><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>Sheila was black and tan with pointy ears and blue eyes.<span style=""> </span>She was very young, only five months old (that’s about four in human years).<span style=""> </span>Sheila didn’t know what it meant to be a wonder dog.<span style=""> </span>She knew that she liked to chew on rocks.<span style=""> </span>She knew that she liked her humans to take walks with her.<span style=""> </span>She knew that she liked to have her belly scratched.<span style=""> </span>One weekend Sheila learned of more things that she liked.<span style=""> </span>These things were camping, climbing mountains, and flying.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><span style=""></span>When Sheila was a new born puppy she had lost her family.<span style=""> </span>This was before she had her name, before humans had found her.<span style=""> </span>The other animals called her “Blues” in those days, because of her bright eyes and sad heart.<span style=""> </span>Sleeping outside was nothing new to Sheila.<span style=""> </span>She’d made a home of bushes and meals of garbage that people had carelessly thrown from their cars.<span style=""> </span>The garbage made her feel quite ill.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Camping was very different from those cold lonely nights sleeping on scratchy ground with a sick belly.<span style=""> </span>At camp, her human gave her a delicious bowl of food and plenty of fresh water.<span style=""> </span>She even had her own sleeping bag to snuggle into when the sun slipped behind the mountains.<span style=""> </span>Those mountains.<span style=""> </span>That was the best part of camping.<span style=""> </span>That is where the adventure began.</p><span style=""> </span><span style="font-family: courier new;">The first day the humans loaded a pack with water bottles, cameras and sweatshirts. Sheila followed them all over camp, wondering where they were going; hoping she could go too. Finally, one bent over, rubbed her ears and said,</span> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“You ready to go hiking Sheila?”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>“Yes!” Sheila barked, jumping around in excitement.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">Climbing the mountain was tough work for the puppy.<span style=""> </span>There were steep, dusty trails.<span style=""> </span>There were also delicious rocks and strange exciting animals – little tiny ones that scurried into the crevices of rocks and ones so big that humans could sit on their backs as they walked down the trail.<span style=""> </span>The paths were lined with leafy trees that the sun shone through creating lacy shadows across the ground.<span style=""> </span>There were parts with maroon leaves that had fallen from their branches and lay over the earth like carpet.</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Sheila was amazed by everything.<span style=""> </span>Most amazing was when she looked up and saw through the trees to the top of the mountain.<span style=""> </span>There, bare white rocks stood out against the cloudless blue sky.<span style=""> </span>Near the edge of one of those huge rocks was a dark figure.<span style=""> </span>Even though the cliffs were still very far, Sheila’s keen eyes could see this figure was a human.<span style=""> </span>She wondered if the humans that walked on top of mountains were the same as hers who she’d only seen living on low ground.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; font-family: courier new;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span>The human standing near the edge was a 12-year-old boy, “Crow Boy.”<span style=""> </span>His real name was Simon.<span style=""> </span>Simon was born with thick, jet black hair that lay smooth against his scalp like feathers.<span style=""> </span>His eyes too were black, and beady.<span style=""> </span>He had a sharp nose and his fingers and toes curled, ever so slightly, at the tips.<span style=""> </span></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""></span>Simon stood at the edge of the white rocks that wrapped around the mountain top. He thought, “Perhaps I am more crow than human.<span style=""> </span>Perhaps I can be like a crow in one more way.”</p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>Simon thought this way for two reasons:<br /><o:p> </o:p></p> <p style="font-family: courier new;" class="MsoNormal">Reason #1: He believed crows were responsible for his birth.<br />Reason #2:<span style=""> </span>He believed he acted more like a crow all the time.</p>a.e. neehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339779756854212257noreply@blogger.com0