A Collection of Short Stories: The Raven with the White Feather

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To get myself in the writing mood, I 've been experimenting with short stories. Most of my short stories tend to reflect over certain subjects and meanings. As of right now I'm just trying to see just how deep or possibly creative they can become.

Some topics may have a bit of a depressing or slightly dark implication to them. It depends on the subject and how I was relatively feeling over it that day. Some will just be pure fantasy, while others may stray over to the nonfiction side to reflect over past events.  

The reason I'm getting into short stories is due to the English courses I took last semester. I've read many wonderful works and found myself dissecting the various meanings behind them and wanted to give it a go. Hopefully, this will help with my writing and allow me to express myself through the stories as well.

If anyone has any thoughts over the stories, I would absolutely LOVE to hear them. An interpretation or a comment on how you viewed one of the particular stories would greatly help me in my writing. Also, do not be shy to tell me what you personally think on what the stories are about. I want to know your thoughts over the possible meanings they hold.

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Copyright ©Lee Luna 2011

The Raven with the White Feather

 I watched the Raven watch me. I know that wasn't the best way to describe this kind of situation, but with the strange feathered creature continually keeping its beady eyes locked on my own, I couldn't help but feel uneasy.

Its eyes, the color of rich coal and the depth of an endless sea of corroded waves from blackened waters, dragged me into its gaze as I naively continued to stare back with weary curiosity.

This wasn't normal, at least for me to do this sort of thing. I was not the type who was interested in birds, seeing as how I viewed them to be one of the nosiest things that lurked about in this world. So the question to myself was how such a thing was even able to 'pop' up in my mind without realizing it. Did I truly yearn to see a Raven so much? What was so desirable to view this tattered being that's been placed before me, with eyes so tiny it seems to sink into its head, and feathers ruffled and clumped with dirt that appears to have molded with its Flesh.

I would ask the Raven itself for these answers, but seeing as it was so content on just staring, it seemed I would receive nothing. Instead, I continued to watch the bird, examining it from head to claw, beak to tail and so on so forth.

Compared to other birds, the Raven was quite large. I remembered a time when a girl from my class had pointed to one that had perched itself right outside the window, claiming it to be a crow. I held a bit of sympathy towards the creature, finding that despite its larger size and slightly altered features, it was still compared to a common garden variety whiny bird that would caw into the later hours of the evening. I used to throw stones at the small things, watching them fly off as they swooped past me to give me a last earful before slipping away behind the trees that swallowed their forms in silence.

It wasn't that I truly detest the little things, I just wished they wouldn't be so irritating half the time I came upon them.

I had to drag myself back to the present when I noticed the Raven was wobbling slightly, its left talon somewhat off as it inched forward to where I stood. I raised a brow, not bothering to comment as I watched it hobble on with vain attempts to continue forward. My hand twitched, fingers rising slightly toward the bird's direction as though they had a mind of their own. I didn't know what they wished to accomplish, but I held them at bay as I placed them firmly at my side.

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