Black Bird's Cry

Introduction

Cold.

You are cold. So very, very cold.

With the cold there comes a second party: pain.

You are in pain and you are cold.

You've felt like this for as long as you can remember and you've wished for death to come and take you away from this hell multiple times. The pain that was once unbearable, has now subdued if only in the faintest manner and is a little bit easier to ignore now. However, the cool chilly breeze of wherever-the-hell-you're-at is now worsening your forgotten pain.

The cool air is torturing your open wound in your chest, and it doesn't help that the metallic sword that's all the way through it is turning cold itself. The blood that seems never ending, seeps from your wound doesn't help you with this situation at all, nor does the fact that it's the middle of the night and you get no heat from the icy moon. The skin around the stitches on your face are dangerously numb, but now you feel the weight of your white, bloodstained doctors mask pulling against your skin and it starts to hurt a bit, but due to the strap around your head that supports the mask, it doesn't make the pain unbearable. Your wings and tail feathers, however, are a different story. The stitches that have kept them in place for so long have grown to be infected since you, nor the people that did this to you, never took the time to remove them and you didn't bother to clean them after you escaped that hell hole. Now, with the cool air pounding into your infected wounds, you feel sharp, unbearable pain shoot up your tail bone and shoulder blades. You hug your knees tighter in an attempt to make yourself smaller so your wings can hug around you and cover the sickened nerves, but your attempt seems to show no avail so you're stuck here, shivering on a thick branch that's connected to a medium sized tree.

You don't know exactly where you're at. All you know is that this is your tree, you've claimed it. You've scratched this tree with your razor sharp talons multiple times in order to tell this one apart from the other trees that are in this forest. You came here during the last month of the summer due to you fleeing a place where you were almost discovered. You flew for days trying to get as far away from that place as possible, you've would've gone farther had you been able to fly during the day without causing panic. You don't know why you were there in the first place, although the hot, crowded city seemed familiar and actually a little nostalgic, you knew you couldn't be there without being spotted. You knew it but you still took the chance just because some roof on one single skyscraper seemed dangerously familiar.

Was it because you had been there in your early life? You don't know. You don't know a lot of things anymore. You don't even know your own name or where you came from before the experiments. You don't know why you keep that sword in your chest. You don't know why certain colors make you feel a certain way. Why does orange make you sorrowful? Why does purple, pink, light blue, and green feel comforting? Why does blue make your emotions run wild? You don't know. You don't know why you're a monster.

However, you do know that you're a hideous mangled monster. You know that the blood that coats the tip of your mask isn't yours. You know that your one, taloned hand can cut through flesh like butter. You know that your half-formal and half-casual clothing—that has been stitched together straight down the middle—are the only clothes that you've worn for year. You know that your raven black wings are so big that they trail behind you. You know that your appearance can frighten people and even traumatize them.

You pat the top of your head gently with your taloned hand, earning a small caw from the crow that makes up your hair. The ebony black that stains your hand doesn't spread to the rest of your arm. It goes all the way up to your wrist before fading into your normal pale skin midway through your forearm.

A gust of icy air runs over your body, making you let out a shaky sigh and shrinking into your self even more, you burry your head in the black fluffy crow boa that overflows at the collar and hem of your shirt.

You hate this.

AN: yo sorry this is rlly short, I promise later chapters will be longer so yeah that's pretty much it.