The Flock
The Flock
The Flock
_ Kate Stewart
Dedication
Epigraph
“There is a legend about a bird which sings just once its life,
more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the
earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a
thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then,
singing among the savage branches, it impales itself among
the longest, sharpest spine. And, dying, it rises above its
own agony to out-carol the lark and the nightingale. One
superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world
stills to listen, and God in his heaven smiles. For the best is
only bought at the cost of great pain... Or so says the
legend.”
_Colleen McCullough,
The Thorn Birds
Prologue
I GREW UP SICK.
Let me clarify. I grew up believing that real love stories
include a martyr or demand great sacrifice to be worthy
My favourite books, love songs, movies, the ones that
resonated with me, have kept me grieving long after I
turned the last page, the notes faded out, or the credits
rolled.
Because of that, I believed it, because I made myself
believe it, and I bred the most masochistic of romantic
hearts, which resulted in my illness.
When I lived this story, my own twisted fairy tale, it was
unbeknownst to me at the time because I was young and
naive. I gave into temptation and fed that beating beast,
which grew thirstier with every slash, every strike, every
blow.
That’s the novelty of fiction versus reality. You can’t re-
live your own love story because, by the time you’ve
realized you’re living it, it’s over. At least that was the case
for me.