Freak with a pen walks out in a blue tee shirt, blue jeans, a black coat and a piece of paper in his hands
Freak: hi there, kiddies. Freak with a pen here with a problem and an ingenious solution. You see my English teacher gave me home work where in I write a story using the ten SAT words I received form in her class but I also wanted to write some fan fiction so I decide to "kill two birds with one stone" and facilitate both.
Freak takes the paper and scratches something off.
Freak: see I got one already. Smart huh? As always I own nothing. On with the show
The Crow: decaying hope
Wrong place, wrong time
He had been sitting in a shallow grave for three hours now. He was about 7 feet tall, his skin was ghostly white, his hair was short and black, he wore a black shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and leather boots. He was Just sitting and staring at his hand then, like with most in his situation, it came back all at once. Every nanosecond of his life all at once. His birth, his life, and most vivid his death. His mind felt as if it were trying a fitful escape attempt. As if it would burst from his skull any moment. His name was mike… Mike Aroom and he had been dead for quite some time. While searching his memories for an answer to what the hell was going on a lone crow flew next to the disturbed dirt of the grave site. The crow "said" nothing but it was as if he could hear its thoughts.
Mike: what the hell do you want?
He noted his voice was gruff from disuse.
The crow looked at the cemetery gates as to get him to leave.
Mike: I want answers.
The fastidious bird then raised its wing as if pointing.
Mike: fine but I better get some answers, Polly.
The forlorn dead man rose from his grave as the crow took a seat upon his shoulder.
He walked for an hour until he got to a condemned and somewhat familiar and condemned house. He entered the house and immediately recognized it as his own. He was suddenly bombarded with images of the night he died.
The last image was of a man with a shot gun saying the flagrant term of…
Man: sorry kid, wrong place, wrong time.
As if it some fortuitous occurrence. At this he was worked into fervor of rage.
Mike: my father went against those men and they killed him, me, and my family.
At this moment mike's mental state was as fragile as a fledgling bird. It was at this point that the crow made its presents known again.
Mike: what? So you brought me back to avenge them? I'll get slaughtered like before.
Then mike swung at the bird in anger. His rage made him give chase to the bird. Finaly he swung at the bird and cut his hand on a sharp object, obscured by the lack of light. mike clutched his hand out of instinct. It was then he relised that his hand didn't hurt. he looked down at his hand and there was no cut, not even any indication that it had been cut at all. He looked for what the object was and found it to be a hunting knife sticking out of a draw. He took the blade and thrust it into his chest. He slowly pulled the blade out and the wound mended itself.
Mike: this might give me an advantage. Those bastards think they can kill my family and get away with? Well their fallacy will be their end. I will show them how formidable an adversary a dead man can be.
With that he shoved the knife into his left boot, left the decrepit, decaying building and fled into the night.
Freak: so there it is chapter 1. Remember no flames cus a crow won't bring you back. As always peace to my fellow freaks.