Authors note:
A 'stair way to heaven' fic. Hope ya like it! Please R and R to lemme know.(For best results, copy the whole story and paste it in a word document in the font 'Papyrus'. . . looks cool that way!)
Disclaimer:
All Crow related-characters mentioned in this story belongs to, hmm, I'm not sure whom it belongs to! I tried searching up my old Crow CD but couldn't find it! I a sure u . . . it doesn't belong to me (Crow not the CD!). The evil-crow however is mine!
Crow: It's a Legend
By: Splatty
Prologue:
People once believed that when someone dies, a crow carries their soul to the land of the dead . . .but sometimes something so bad happens, that a terrible sadness is carried with it . . .and the soul can't rest. And sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring the soul back . . .in order to put things right. Things can never be right. My soul will never rest until we are together again.
~
A crow was flying by in the dead of the night sky. It passed various buildings and obstacles and soon came upon its final destination. It landed in front of Eric Draven, he was sitting at the edge of on of his window, that window. The one he was crashed through almost two years ago. Thought to have been killed only to return.
"So, looks like you had a good night" He smirked.
The crow just flipped its wings, not saying a single craw.
"Yeah whatever."
The clouds roared as they darkened the already dark sky. And as if pouring from the heavens, down came the rain.
It breezed a gentle breeze and waved His hair as the rain drops splashed in his face.
~
Somewhere nearby in a cemetery, the same cemetery
Eric Draven had been in. Rainwater fell on it,
softening the soil on which many have been buried.
If one had been there during the daytime, it may have looked sad but peaceful. Now, the look could shake one of the bravest men
A hand emerged from the soil. It struggled to get out.
And then, another hand came out from the same mound, soon . . . most of its body emerged . . . it was a man. He climbed out of his grave, unsure who he is or where he might be.
If somebody were to be there at that moment, one would not be able to see this creature's face for the darkness disguised it.
It was pretty sure the figure was of a man's. He looked at his dirt filled hands . . . they were ghostly white, and then shifted his head towards the gravestone, his grave stone as it might be.
'Christopher Brian,
1970 – 2002
Beloved father and brother'
a crow with red evil eyes landed on top of the grave.
To be continued