Before the Third Crow

Guest Piece

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Guest piece inspired by “The Rooster” / Part 1 of eXis

Author: Renata

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Before the Third Crow

I opened my eyes and knew something was wrong. The rooster never crows before dawn; maybe it was another too-real dream, I thought. Falling back asleep was impossible. I had no choice but to face reality.

That night I had decided to sleep in the henhouse; I always felt safer there, like my little refuge. Outside it was freezing. It must have been around three in the morning. The strange thing is, I think if my brother had been here with me, he would surely have made some joke about ghosts, about how unhappy souls roamed the fields at that hour looking for lonely children. Not long ago illness had taken his life, but Mom never wants to talk about it.

I crossed the few yards that separated the henhouse from the house. The dark didn’t scare me; the silence did. And since the rooster had crowed only once, I was on alert, waiting for the other two. My little bare feet sank into the earth, wet with dew, and the dripping, that soft sound, unsettled me. Silence, sound, waiting.

I don’t remember how, but something must have pierced my foot as I walked, because by the time I reached the door, blood was already staining the steps. The sharp pain added to the list of thoughts that were overwhelming me. I remember thinking: a child shouldn’t suffer this much. But I was already used to it; I had seen it in my brother too.

As soon as I put my hand on the doorknob, the rooster’s second crow startled me. Damn it. I had been waiting for it so it wouldn’t scare me, and it still managed to.

What came next is a blurred cloud in the mind of a seven-year-old girl:

the shot,

the blood,

my father on the floor,

the revolver in his right hand.

He was dead.

The third crow surely came, but I didn’t hear it. Maybe because of the gunshot. Maybe because of the shock.

A child shouldn’t suffer this much. But by then I was no longer a child.

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About the Text

“Before the Third Crow” builds all its force on a threshold: between night and day, between silence and the shot, between childhood and what comes after. The rooster stops being a barnyard animal and becomes a tragic clock, marking the precise instant when childhood breaks. With a restrained voice, Renata crafts fragmented scenes that narrate trauma without morbidness or excess. The shot, the blood, the body, the revolver leave a mark. The repetition of “a child shouldn’t suffer this much,” capped by the final turn, builds a devastating, memorable close that keeps resonating long after the reading. Devastating.
Gon Vas

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About the Author

Renata is Argentine, a lawyer and writer. Her first steps in writing were songs and love letters. As a teenager she delved into poetry, taking part in several contests at her neighborhood Casa de Cultura. Now, at 24, she writes on her blog “What I Don’t Say Out Loud.” She considers herself a sensitive person and an enthusiast of life; small things move her, she loves music and spending time with her family. Art moves her more than anything in the world, and she dreams of one day changing lives with her words.

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