The
Midnight air is chilling.
He
stares at the freshly buried tombstone while lightning pierces the ground and
rain beats down on his back.
Caressing
the single black tulip in his hand one last time before he rests it at the foot
of the grave. Emotionless, he stares at the name engraved into the tombstone
for a few moments before he rises and walks towards the dark forest that lies
beyond the cemetery.
The
deeper into the forest he goes, the more the overpowering redwoods block the
full moon from view.
Thunder
continues to roar like the mighty lion in an African Safari, shaking the ground
beneath his feet.
A
murder of Crows swarms the sky above him. Their screeching voices sound like
nails gliding down a chalkboard. Soaring below the blankest of fog and mist,
their eyes reflect against the glistening exterior of the black pistol in his
hand.
Finally,
he reaches his destination.
He
glances up at the crows, whose jet-black feathers blend into the night, and
smirks. Staring at the river that runs through the cluster of redwoods, he
fingers the pistol one last time before hurling it into the dark waters, never
to be seen again.
He
chuckles to himself as the murder of crows cackle down at him, as if they sense
the bad omen he projects.
