I'm doing oneshots until I regain some muse for funny things. Nothing belongs to me.
Twelve crows.
Twelve crows lined up on the wooden fence at the bottom of the hill, just beyond the church. Not so much as a feather was out of place as they sat there, watching him. The picture of uniformity.
"Guilty."
As he passed, he heard the words. They were harsh, clipped, and rough. Sandpaper. A caw. He turned back to stare at the birds, startled that such an outburst could come from any of them. "Huh?"
"Guilty."
It was a chorus that time, a poorly-timed chorus, but a chorus none-the-less. When the final 'guilty' had sounded, the silence settled back in. Too thick, far too thick. He was drowning in it, choking with every breath.
He took a step backward, eyes never leaving the birds. They watched him, alert and curious. For the briefest of moments he could see them flying forward suddenly, claws outstretched, beaks aimed for his eyes, for his innards, anything easily ruptured. The goo would fall from his sockets, dripping down a face missing skin, missing flesh, bloody bone lying underneath...
It is only when he moved his hands away from his face that he realized the birds had not moved. They only sat. Sat and stared.
Perhaps it was an inner jury, one that knew what he had done and had easily condemned him for it. After all, hadn't he taken an innocent life? He would be guilty no matter who looked at him, be the jury birds, his own thoughts, or a group of blue collar nobodies in a courtroom somewhere.
"Guilty."
He backed up a few more steps before tearing toward what he hoped would be civilization. They needed supplies, and he didn't feel very safe on his own anymore.