Please be quiet. Please. This is a matter of life and death.
I’m not kidding. Rule Number 2, remember?
The ravens are circling in the sky overhead.
If you’re reading my story as a book, then I hope it has a cover. And if it has a cover, I hope it shows these ravens rightfully as the fearsome, lethal creatures they are and not as cute bonny birdies.
I can see their distant black delineates, searching for prey. In their backdrop there's no cloud, no star, no sun, no moon; only a steel grey canvas, a petty excuse for a sky, speckled with dozens of these gliding blurs.
If I make a sound, if I so much as squeak, I think they’ll know. They’ve already gotten so many of the natives. They’ve already gotten him.
To think I wouldn’t even know what’s happening here if not for the 'mares is frankly disturbing. But we’ll get to the 'mares soon. We have to, whether I want to or not. We don’t have much time.
For now, just stay quiet.
Good. That’s it.
Lord, I wish it was this quiet on the dinner party at my place, specifically that one time.
YOU ARE READING
Sort of Deadly
Humor*Sequel to 'Sort Of Dead'* *Kindly read the previous installment beforehand* ~ "You know the feeling when you see a glass jar filled with perfectly round, colorful marbles, and you just want to put one - or two, or three - in your mouth, even though...
