Creative Writing Collection

The Dead Sea

       There was a slight wind, debris lifting off the ground gently to later crash onto another scattered pile of ash. Smoke and dust, quieting fires, smoldered in the ruins of a city that once was. Half demolished buildings sat upon their sagging thrones, larger pieces of ruin piling at the bases. The birds did not sing; they had no one, nothing, to sing to.

       All but one bird.

       A raven cawed, perched on the decaying flesh of an outreaching arm, the rest of the body hidden away, mangled beneath a massive chunk of what had been concrete. It cocked its head before taking to the skies. Below itself a single woman prowled through the destruction. Her hair was a dull orange shade, curled and frizzed about herself. Clothed in an old, torn dress, parts of it were decorated with iron she had picked up from her wandering. In her hand she held the dangling end of her gasmask, the eyes of it causing her to look like the living dead.

       Again, the raven called out, receiving a few replies before swooping.

       Almost carelessly, the woman raised a finger, though her head was bowed and she seemed to be looking at the floor. The block bird’s talons wrapped about the projection, wings shuffling roughly.

       The black eyes of the bird and mask, darkness stared into profounder darkness, a soft of understanding settling between the two. “Find him.” Her words were soft, lightly muffled, the raven screeching and calling as it flew away, joining in its amassing horde of brothers and sisters above them, circling like a hurricane.