Black Bird

The whoosh of wings was heard but not seen. Camouflaged by the black of night, the owner of those wings, a raven, landed gracefully on a concrete pillar on a skyscraper, and turned to look at the lone figure standing nearby.

The figure climbed atop the concrete barrier edging the building. It was meant to protect against falls—accidental or intentional. But the figure was no longer afraid of such things.

It had been ages since Marla Mitchell had fear of such trivial things. Mistakes she’d made kept her in a constant state fear. It had been a mistake when she’d taken a late night walk just to clear her head

When she’d walked a littler further than she realized, she’d tried to turn back. But fear, that constant buzzing that stayed behind her eyes, left her disoriented, and she was lost. So she’d ran, toward noise and sounds of a busy street. Another mistake.

A group of men attacked her, hoping for money or valuables she did not own, then left her for dead. She‘d laid there, blaming herself, just another in a series of mistakes. But as the darkness slowly snuffed out the little light there was, she heard the beating of many wings.

She’d felt a weight on her chest, as wings around her beat, and she blinked to clear her misty vision. She focused enough to see the black eyes of a bird looking down at her, cocking its head. It stared into her eyes a moment longer, then hopped away. Then she began to feel like she was floating, and her vision grew dark once more, she assumed it was death taking her.

Now, the figure in the dark knew that the birds, The Ravens, had chosen her. Now she was Blackbird. She had no fear.