The Bee and the Crow
Whenever there's a sharp turn in the day's weather, it is usually the bees that are aware of it before anyone else. The crows are a close second with their extremely sharp vision that allows them to see glimpses of the future, but they cannot compete with the sensitivity of the wings of the bees.
At the edge of the city, there's a small meadow that remains yellow for most of the year. At its heart, a giant tree stands with its face towards the heavens and its branches reaching to its sides, spreading shade and darkness. It was the only shelter to be seen across the horizon.
And so, when the sky grew heavy and the heavens crashed onto the earth, both a crow and a bee found themselves next to each other, under the tree, soaked in the ice-cold water of the rains.
"At this rate, I would not be surprised if fishes started swimming in the sky," said the crow, shivering the cold out of its system.
"The storm has already caused enough damage, crow, let's not come up with nightmarish delusions," The bee perched itself on the same branch as the crow, sitting comfortably to allow its weary wings to rest.
"Oh, I didn't notice you there. From where did you come?"
"From near the city. My hive was harmed by the humans and their poisonous gases. All of us now grow with weak wings. So now with the storm, I have lost all of my friends. Say, have you seen any bees scurrying about?"
"See? I don't do much of that nowadays," the crow shook its head and looked directly at the bee, "One of the elders of that city threw a pebble at me once, and my eyes have not seen the same since."
The bee, too, looked over to study the crow and its eyes – one was misty blue, and the other retained its regular dark complexion that reminded the bee of the sunless and starless skies. The bee spread its wings and buzzed lightly to the top of the crow's head, then sat down.
"I hear storms are a very good time to make wishes," the weak bee told the half-blind crow, "If you make a wish the instant God bangs against the walls of the skies, it will come true."
"I have no wishes to make." The crow tilted its head and looked upwards, it imagined silhouettes of fish filling its vision, scuttering about in the heavy rain. It imagined the clouds as houses for the fishes that were the real masters of the sky. No Gods, just fishes that hopped from cloud to cloud, waiting for all birds to join them. One day, the crow would fly with them, and then it wouldn't matter if it could see.
"You don't want your eye back?" The bee asked, perplexed.
"What would be the point of asking Him for help?"
"I don't know. I would wish for Him to bring my friends to me."
The crow spread its wings, "We are not weak things, we don't need wishes. Hide yourself in my feathers, and I'm sure we can look for them together… if you help me see with your eyes of course."
In the rain, the clouds almost began to take the shape of various fishes. The two flew off, not waiting for the sky to turn bright or for God's hammer to fall upon the heavens. Those were never needed.
Raian writes stories.