The wet grass felt cold under my bare feet as I stood in the middle of an open field. Above me, dark clouds formed, hiding the sun behind them. The cold wind blew my hair wildly around me and my loose dress billowed. The only thing that kept it in place were my arms frozen on each of my sides. Directly in front of me was an old building that could've been an apartment once because of the verandas neatly placed on each floor. Vines and cracks surrounded the gray wall of the structure suggesting that it had been abandoned for a long time.
But if it was abandoned, then who are those people who stood on the verandas?
They weren't moving but their focus was all on me who stood many floors below them. All of them wore tattered gray clothes and their faces were pale and unreadable.
Dozens of eyes looking directly at me but my own eyes were glued to the one on top of the building.
He wasn't hard to see for he was taller and bigger than the average human. He too looked down at me with those glowing white eyes. At first unmoving, but then he looked up to the gray sky, stretched his arms on either side of him, and a pair of great black wings grew from his back. It opened on either side of him making him look like a huge raven.
His focus went back to me and suddenly, chills crawled under my skin.
He never opened his lips but I heard his voice inside my head.
"Aren't you scared of me?" his voice was as cold and strong as the storm that could ravage a whole town.
I swallowed before answering, "I am."
Murmurs that came from the onlookers filled the air.
I saw him smile.
He jumped from the building and flew up to the sky.
The rain came down so hard filling my eyes but I still looked up to the clouds, and waited for him to come back.
YOU ARE READING
A Thousand Lives
Tiểu Thuyết Chung"I write because I want to experience a thousand different lives" Random stories with random word counts. A collection of my ideas that might be written in formal narrative or in any other way. Read away :) Note: Will possibly get edited from time t...
