short stories

The Raven

A thick, grey veil of mist settled upon the worn cobblestone path as a coal black raven flew upon it, descending on a flattened rat carcass, crushed weeks earlier by a carriage. The raven picked at its flesh, and ascended above the treeline - of which there was none, as not a single plant, be it tree or bush, had leaves - dripping droplets of crimson into a murky white pond as the mist grew thicker and thicker.

A fat, spotted toad, flushed out by blood, leaped out of the pond and into a dead bush, as if expecting leaves to be there to shield it from the rain that was now falling from the invisible sky. It stepped out onto the path, desperate to feed itself. It looked around in all directions to try to catch even the slightest sign of life.

Unfortunately for the toad, it didn't look well enough, as a fat black rat sprung out from a decaying bush to its right and tossed it onto its side. As the toad tried to flip itself back over, the rat sunk its bacteria-ridden teeth deep into the toad's neck, spraying red arterial gore all over the path. It dragged the toad carcass away, into a small hole.

The raven flew above, and descended for a final time into a graveyard. Its pond was full of insect life and the headstones covered in flowers. The mist, once again, grew thicker. As the raven walked towards a black altar, located at the bottom of the yard, the insect's buzzing fell silent and the unkempt grass wiltered. When the raven reached the altar, it began to crack, and the raven dissapeared into a black orb.

Out of the abyss came a seven foot figure, dressed in black robes and its facial features shrouded by a black cowl. It walked slowly along the path leading to the gate as it pulled out its sword, and dragged it along the floor. It reached the gate, that was now rusted shut, and pushed it open with ease. It stepped out onto the path's divergence... and in the mist came a figure.

An old, bearded man unknowingly strolling to his fate.