A Crow, A Raven, and a Magpie

𝓢𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮

"Quill, baby, do you want any of the flavoring on your popcorn?"

Quill turned his attention away from his phone to his mother. He looked over his shoulder to peer into the grimy kitchen where his mother stood, a cloudy plastic green bowl that was near overflowing with butter popcorn in her hands.

The kitchen always had a disturbing yellow tint, which was possibly from the cheap light fixture in the ceiling. The countertop looked as if it were made out of bathroom floor tile, with stains on the white ceramic and old grease stuck in the crevices. Dirty dishes were piled high in the sink, and the counters were cluttered with a vast majority of different items; detergents, a clunky bread box, a sooty coffee machine that stopped working ages ago, and other litter like that. The island in the middle of the kitchen had slightly more room than the other counters, but it was still quite crowded.

The whole house was quite compact, which was to be expected of a manufactured home grounded in a trailer park.

"No, thanks." Quill answered.

His mother, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a short t-shirt, walked toward Quill.

"Aquí tienes, nena," She spoke kindly while handing Quill the bulky bowl of popcorn.

"Gracias."

Quill, without sparing a glance at the details of the popcorn, popped one in his mouth. He leaned back against the cushy couch he was sitting upon, wiggling and shuffling his body to get comfortable on the cushions that noticeably had broken springs. Sitting between the cushions or on the edge of them was the best bet to ensure a spring wouldn't poke at his legs.

Like their kitchen, the living room was compact and crowded. 2 couches, a tv against the wall opposite from the front door, and a coffee table squished between the tv and the couches. Besides that, everything looked like a mess. An ashtray and many magazines were scattered on the coffee table, as well as a few medication bottles. They looked like they were prescribed to Quill himself, and it looked like there was a variety.

The matted carpets reeked of smoke; not even the savory scent of the popcorn covered the strong odor of cigarettes in the house.

The tv had an image of a paused movie on it, although it was near the beginning. The title of the movie was shown in the bottom left of the screen in piercing white letters: 'The Children of Tragedy'

"I thought he liked putting that stuff on his popcorn," Quill's father said in his deep, gravelly, chainsmoker voice. He was standing in the kitchen, pulling out an inflated brown bag of fresh popcorn from the microwave.

Quill's mother paused by the island, grabbing the plastic shaker which had an image of a cartoon popcorn graphic pasted on the front of it.

"You bought the wrong kind. He likes the store brand kind," She sounded disappointed, speaking in an irritated tone of voice to convey her frustration stronger.

"The store brand? That shit? I bought the better brand, 'cuz I thought that's what you wanted."

"I don't even like any of that, it's what Quill wants!" His mother slammed the shaker back on the counter. Quill remained unfazed by the situation, although he did slide down against the couch a little, as if to hide from the conflict.

His mother often would drag Quill into fights, claiming her reasoning was because of him, because of what he wants, what he likes, whatever fits the situation. Most of the time, it wasn't particularly true, but he trusted his mother's judgment over his own.

"You didn't tell me otherwise," His father snapped while he tore the bag of popcorn open. "Whatever. I just want to watch the goddamn movie, Melly."

Quill's mother rolled her eyes, grabbing an empty bowl off the counter and shoving it into her husband's chest. He took it wordlessly, but it was easy to see how he fumed with anger. His mother pulled open the short refrigerator and fished out a can of diet soda before walking into the living room. She lightly patted Quill's knee as she walked past before sitting down on the other couch.