Kate MacCarthy

Early on in the yawning chasm days, a flock of jackdaws flew by as I opened the curtains onto a pale dawn. Hundreds of arrow-fast inky dashes disappeared over the horizon, and I refused to think it was you. 

You weren’t in the kingfisher I saw by our river or the train ticket bookmark I found in a paperback. The feather at my feet was just a feather at my feet, although I picked it up and kept it. Nonsense, you would have said. There are no consolations. 

Today, the jackdaws flew past at dusk. A whole sky of them.

This story was shortlisted in the November 2021 Monthly Micro Competition.

About the author: Kate MacCarthy is a writer based in Yorkshire.