Short Stories & Compositions

Crows

Crows are stupid. They're just stupid, black birds with stupid, beady, black eyes. I told a crow once. That it was stupid. And it just stared at me from it's dull eyes before cawing and taking off. That's because it's too dumb to recognize what I said. Crows are stupid.

Walking home from school was never a long process for me. I can't say the same for the rest of the kids in my neighborhood. That's because I have a shortcut. Instead of walking down the road to get to my house, I cut through the woods. The other children are scared of the woods. The shadows that morph into monstrous shapes and the jet black birds that watch them from the treetops perturb their dreams. I, however, am not scared of the woods, and especially not the birds. What are they gonna do, peck me to death?

Something is a little off about the forest today. While it certainly isn't the brightest ray of sunshine, you usually hear a couple songbirds in the ever far distance. Or the rustling of leaves from the wind. Yet, it is silent. The only sound being my unsteady breathing. It was clear that I was anxious. Alert of my surroundings. Though maybe not as alert as I should have been because if I was, I would've noticed the thousands of unblinking eyes watching me from the tree branches.