It is said when a person dies before his time,

A crow will take his soul to the land of the Dead.

But sometimes, just sometimes...the crow returns it.

But what if the crow was not the only bird to do so?

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Place: LA, St. Anne's Cemetery

Time: 10.00pm

Rain purged the city of fallen angels-otherwise known as LA-one cool November night. A small black figure landed upon a tombstone. It was a crow. The tombstone read:

RIP

Daven Richardson

BORN: 17th Feb. 1980

DIED: 9th March 2004

Lightning flashed, illuminating the photograph on the tombstone above the words. It was a picture of a dark, brooding and attractive male youth no more than 24, with black hair and iron gray eyes. The crow cawed loudly. When lightning flashed once more, a hand shot out of the ground, followed by a head of black hair. Then another hand. By the fourth flash, a youth clad in black, soil and some blood stood outside the grave, reading his own tombstone. His gray eyes widened as he read the words. He had been dead for at least 4 days...

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FLASHBACK

4 DAYS AGO...

Daven hit the ground, gasping in agony. He looked awful. Blood matted his hair and stained his bruised and battered visage and body, no thanks in part to two meat popsicles named Rock and Boulder.

"OK, boys, that's enough."

Their leader, his old friend Simon sneered. Then, out of the shadows, sauntered his girlfriend Lilith, into Simon's arms.

"Lilith?!! What the-? Why?!!"

"You kept comparing me to that ex of yours- and Simon's HOTTER and RICHER. Goodbye, Daven."

Simon grinned, kissed her and took out a silencer and aimed it at Daven's head. And fired...

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Daven felt rage burn through him as though fuel had entered his bloodstream intravenously.

He slammed the tombstone, causing it to crack. The crow fell off and landed on his shoulder, docile like a pet. Daven tried to wave it away but he decided against it. He always loved birds.

"Better than a backstabber,"

he muttered. Just then, he noticed a white rose next to the cracked tombstone. He sniffed it. It had the scent of Lolita Lempick-Danielle's favorite perfume. He smiled, for the first time in a long while. He decided to pay his old flame a little visit before taking his revenge.

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The apartment was spacious and comfortable. It was well furnished and had a touch of elegance with the candles all around the apartment. But they were not there for decoration purposes. It was to mourn the passing of a loved one. One by the name of Daven. A red-haired, green-eyed angel in a white dress lit a candle and went to pour herself some tea. Her housekeeper Mrs. Ediths, a large loveable bear of an African-American woman would be coming round later. She smiled a sad smile at that. Mrs.Ediths could always cheer her up. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Like a child running to give a favourite aunt a hug, she recklessly opened the door and threw herself-into the arms of Daven Richardson, her late ex-lover.