I watched as the raven storm circled the garret. My people could go centuries without witnessing such an event, and now within the span of one month, I have witnessed two. I know what they want from me, but I am not ready. Is anyone, really? Obscured by the curtain, I listened for the flap of the ravens’ wing signaling their flight. At length, I waited until my legs benumbed.
“Fly, fly, fly away. Near this house you will not stay.”
Of a sudden, the discordant caws subsided. I held my breath–hoping, praying. I didn’t want to look, but I had to know.
Quiet, I raised the drape and stared into flat, button-like eyes. Startled, I dropped the curtain from my nerveless fingertips sinking to my knees. Just then, three strident caws rent the air.
I closed my eyes and began to cry.
“I suppose I had to die sometime.”
photo credit: photobucket
Born to Write
A picture tells a thousand stories!
"We make bitter better."
Irish History, Culture, Heritage, Language, Mythology
spare the crazy vocabulary, speak from your heart
Poetry, Prose, Photography
by Lize Bard
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
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A wee anthology of dark yarns.