Dreams of Dead Eyes | Teen Ink

Dreams of Dead Eyes

May 25, 2015
By random_nobody SILVER, Minneapolis, Minnesota
random_nobody SILVER, Minneapolis, Minnesota
9 articles 1 photo 5 comments

Favorite Quote:
Opinions and fish.- Possessing opinions is like possessing fish, assuming one has a fishpond. One has to go fishing and needs some luck-then one has one’s own fish, one’s own opinions. I am speaking of live opinions, of live fish. Others are satisfied if they own a cabinet of fossils-and in their hands, “convictions.”


“Look a crow!” she shouted in excitement as a large bird covered in black landed on the window seal.
    “No, it’s a raven.” I said quietly into my little sister’s ear. Her blond hair tickled my face as I crouched next to her.
    “Oh, how do you know?” she asked, looking up into my face.
    “Look at its defining features.” I told her. She gave a small nod, but still didn’t understand. As we sat watching the bird, I felt her little body pressed up against me, her heart in sync with mine. The raven turned and looked me in the eye. I felt like my heart’s sensitive string had just been severed. The holy blackness pulled me in, inviting me to enter its solemness. I broke the gaze, afraid of losing myself to the darkness. Its sleek feathers were stunning, I wanted nothing more to stroke them. They seemed to gleam, even in the bleak light provided by the hidden sun. Its dark beak, pointed and acute. I imagined reaching out and my blood beginning to pool from the sharpness.
    “I’ll be right back!” she whispered as she stood. After the door clicked shut, the bird cocked its curious head at me. Nevermore a voice in my head said as I began to geek out. The raven took another step and scratched at the window with his claws as if saying “It’s okay, she’s gone. You can let me in now.”. Even though something desperately  told me not to, I unlocked the window and pulled it open. A gust of wind rushed in, tugging at my clothes. Cautiously it stepped inside. Never once did it take its beautiful beady eyes off me. I watched in a curious glee. Slowly, almost as if for dramatization, he opened his wings and leaped. I fell to ground in fright and amazement. At first I thought the raven would just fly back outside, but I soon learned I was wrong. He dove and soared in my confining room. It was putting on a show, just for me.

    “What the…?!” my dad shouted as he swung the door open, my sister clutching his leg. The raven shrieked and panicked. It tried to dive out the window, the fear ate him alive. A loud snap echoed the room as it smashed into the wall. There was a deathly silence in the room. Slowly I crawled over to him. How could something this bad happen to something this elegant I asked myself in a melancholic rage. I gingerly picked him up and held him to my chest as I began to cry.
    That night I had dreams about ravens flying around my room. Each had a broken neck and dead eyes.



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