by Gloria Pickens

Created on: October 04, 2009

It's been said that ravens are the children of the devil. She stared at me with a knife in her hand. There was a sparkle in her eye that was never there before, and she killed me softly with her silence. Her lips pursed tightly, she stood like a statue on a warm summer day; she gripped the knife so securely it couldn't escape from her grasp if it cut itself out. Her eyes dug into my soul and begged for understanding. Understanding of what? I couldn't identify what she was trying to convey, I couldn't read her mind. I implored into her with my expression of bewilderment, but all I received was her stare of necessity. I admired her long black hair, the color of the ravens. I looked deeper into her eyes, the origin of the sparkle which dwelt within her. I witnessed the devil inside of her and I jumped back with revelation. She continued to stand motionless, gripping the wooden handle of the knife with such consistent security it was as if she had frozen in time. She was there, she was real. But at the same time she was not. She was not standing before me. She was long gone. She was dead. The twinkle I observed within her was merely her soul whispering goodbye into the air as she escaped with Lucifer himself. Her hollow body remained in front of me, but she was no longer there. Her skin was vacant and I took the knife from her fingers and put it back in its receptacle. I was sad for her as I looked into her eyes which were now as empty as the world. They said nothing. They just stared into nowhere and were lost. I could never find you if I tried, if I wanted. You're better off where no one can find you.

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