Raise the Dead
by
P. Bateman ( p_bateman2000@hotmail.com )
Author's note: This for that one person who I didn't speak to soon enough and now
I am forever without. When writing this story I was simply going from what I
knew from the original movie. This is because both the sequel and the TV series suck. Also, the story's ending changed. I wanted
to write a different kind of Crow and I think it'll come across. I hope.
**********************************
"Hey, wait, I got a new complaint"
**********************************
When I think back it feels as if my "accident" happened only yesterday. Though
when I first "woke" after my burial, I have to admit that I was completely
unsure of the time scale of anything that had happened. First thing I did when
my eyes opened was to crawl out of my grave. Not a task that I would want to
ever do again. My fingers were bloody and raw from scratching at the coffin lid.
As soon as I made it the top, I leaned against my gravestone and watched as my
hands healed themselves. Try taking this all in. You're dead, then you're not and then you can fucking heal yourself. Now, I took acid when I was younger, but I never saw anything like that. It was then that I saw The Crow. It was perched upon
the small grave yard gate. It had been cleaning itself when it saw me. As soon
as it did it began to screech. Cawing, I think. I was never one for the call
signs of birds.
"Hello" I said walking up to it. I don't really know why I spoke to it. I just
seemed like the right thing to do. It was if at that point The Crow was the only
friend I had. As soon as I got close enough I put out my hand to touch the dark
bird. Just as my hand reached it's head, it flew away. I followed, not knowing
why I did nor where I was being taken.
We moved for an hour. The bird in the sky and me on the ground. I was amazed
that I could keep up with it. Afterall, it wasn't moving slowly and I wasn't the
healthiest person in my time. All thanks to teh previously mentioned acid and a severe addiction to Marlboro. Another thing that astonished me was that any
obstacles in my way were easily overcome. I jumped over fences, scaled walls and
at one point I even jumped from rooftop to rooftop like I was flying. Oh, the
strength I had...
We finally reached The Crow's destination. A long stretch of road going from the
suburbs to the town centre. Nausea hit my stomach and the bile began to rise in
my throat. This was where I had died. I remembered it all. Everything. Images
danced around my head.
~I had fought with my girlfriend, Anne, and left
the house in a state. I took her car and drove
down this very road. I could see myself talking
to thin air, beating the steering wheel with my
left hand. I watched as another car began to
speed up next to me. I cried as I saw the man
in the passenger seat click the safety on his gun
and then, BANG! They laughed as my car
swerved into a tree. I could feel the greed in their
eyes as they searched my body and removed all
my valuables.~
As soon as the memory was over, I collapsed onto the floor. Tears poured down my
face as I tried to come to terms with what had happened. Those bastards had cut
me down. They had killed for bits of pocket change. The Crow landed next to me
and pecked at my arm. I sat up and it hopped onto my lap. I went to stroke it's
head and that's when it hit me. Why I was here. It was as if The Crow was
speaking to me. There had been others before me. Others whose lives had been
taken away from them. Some of Us had been murdered. Some of Us had simply been
caught in a cross fire at a bank raid. Yet, no matter what had happened to Us,
We all came back because of one desire. To seek revenge. It's hard to explain,
but once the idea of revenge got stuck in my head, it became my only thought for
the next couple of weeks.
I began to hunt down the inhabitants of the car that drove past me. I was helped
by The Crow who seemed to know exactly where they all were. And when I got to
them I killed them. I suppose I could attempt to romanticise what I did, but I
can't. I slaughtered each one of the bastards. Yes, my soul cried out for my
death to be avenged, but each time I attacked, my soul stayed quiet and my
killer instincts took over.
When I had finished I was expecting to have this sudden urge to back to my
grave. Bye bye. See ya next life time. Just like the others before me and yet I
didn't. Instead I went back to the motel room I had rented with the money taken
from each one of my victims.
It was upon entering the room and turning on the light that I finally saw the
stranger in the mirror. I don't ever remember sitting down and deciding to wear
the clothes I was wearing. It just seemed like the thing to do. A way of helping
me to blend into the night. The black shirt and boots I had found in a skip. The
jacket and trousers were mine. I'd been buried in them and despite the state of
them, it seemed appropriate. Y'know, a sort of reminder of where I'd come from.
The only thing that I missed out was the make up. Yes, the others had used it,
but why should I? I mean, the clothes are a necessary evil with which I can
blend into the shadows, but the make up seemed redundant. Make up is used to
hide our faces and make us something which we are not. I didn't want to hide my
face. I wanted my victims to know who I was. As soon as I came round that corner
I wanted fear to grip their hearts and not let go until they had bled their last
drop. Boy, did it work! Have you ever seen a grown man piss himself? I understand
that it sounds kinda evil, but I couldn't care less. I see it as a warning to
anyone who feels they should attack those better then themselves. We will always
come back! Overall, without my make up I felt like I was adding more of an edge
to my already back form the dead image. If you killed someone, which would scare you more. Some wet drip in white make up looking like the killer from "Scream" OR the living breathing corpse of your victim. After looking in the mirror I switched
off the light, sat down on the bed and switched on the crappy black and white
TV.
A couple of hours passed. I lay on the bed and watched films, in particular
"Night of the Living Dead". Isn't ironic, don'tcha think?. A little too...
Just as the credits began to roll I heard a tapping at my window. I opened the curtains and there on
the sill stood The Crow. I opened the window and allowed it into the room. As
soon as the window opened, it flew into my arms. I was hit by thoughts again.
The Crow wanted to tell me something again. About someone... Someone....
ANNE!
~I could see her in her bedroom crying. A photo
in her hand. Couldn't make out who it was?
Could be me. Maybe not.~
No matter, I finally realised why I was here. I had attacked her when we argued.
I had struck her down. Hard. I don't why I did it. I just couldn't handle it. My
Anne. Why would I react that way? I had to meet her again. One last time. Tell
her how sorry I was. That was why I was still here. As long as she was in pain,
so would I. I spent the next hour getting ready. Washing my hair ad face. Trying
to make myself presentable. Once I was ready, it was time to go.
I nearly vomited again as I walked past my death spot. Though a sly smile did
arise when I thought of what I had done in the past week.
I stood at the top of the gate of our house and took a deep breath. I worked out
what I could do. I could walk down the path ad knock on the door. Then, when she
opened the door, I could kiss her and tell her how much I missed her and how
much I wanted to apologise for all the hurt I gave her We could talk for hours
and then just as day dawned I would take her upstairs and we could make love one
last time.
I could.
I may have done.
But, I didn't.
Instead, I turned around and walked back to my motel room. It had all become
clear to me as I stood at the bottom of the path. After we had made love, I
would have to tell her that I was no longer able to see her. She would cry and I
would not be able to comfort her. My selfishness would take over. I would want to
know why she was crying when it was me that was going to die again. She would
not understand and cry even harder. I would probably strike her again. I had to
leave this area.
That was two years ago. I now spend most of my time in an old building I found
outside town. No one comes here because they are afraid of the white faced man
with the black eyes who stays here. Yes, I have taken to wearing the make-up now. I
need to hide now. When I look into a mirror I don't want to be reminded of what I
was. What I am. A woman beater who was too chicken-shit to apologise. Not that apologising
would have done any good. As I said before, it would have only brought more
pain. So, I sit in my room and suffer. The Crow no longer visits. Perhaps it has
gone to find better people to bring back, like that Eric Draven guy. Sometimes I
think that this is why The Crow brought me back. In order that I could suffer
for my sins. Sorta like my own personal Jesus.
One day, I'll visit Anne.
One day.
One day, I'll raise the dead.
In the doorway of Glory
He finds Death
who puts his hand in hers
and whispers to him,
"Now...Come home, now."
"Soon", he says
THE END
Before I leave I just want to say that the character is not based on me, so I
don't want any e-mails form people saying I'm a nasty woman beater. I pride
myself that I have never hit anyone I loved.
by
P. Bateman ( p_bateman2000@hotmail.com )
Author's note: This for that one person who I didn't speak to soon enough and now
I am forever without. When writing this story I was simply going from what I
knew from the original movie. This is because both the sequel and the TV series suck. Also, the story's ending changed. I wanted
to write a different kind of Crow and I think it'll come across. I hope.
**********************************
"Hey, wait, I got a new complaint"
**********************************
When I think back it feels as if my "accident" happened only yesterday. Though
when I first "woke" after my burial, I have to admit that I was completely
unsure of the time scale of anything that had happened. First thing I did when
my eyes opened was to crawl out of my grave. Not a task that I would want to
ever do again. My fingers were bloody and raw from scratching at the coffin lid.
As soon as I made it the top, I leaned against my gravestone and watched as my
hands healed themselves. Try taking this all in. You're dead, then you're not and then you can fucking heal yourself. Now, I took acid when I was younger, but I never saw anything like that. It was then that I saw The Crow. It was perched upon
the small grave yard gate. It had been cleaning itself when it saw me. As soon
as it did it began to screech. Cawing, I think. I was never one for the call
signs of birds.
"Hello" I said walking up to it. I don't really know why I spoke to it. I just
seemed like the right thing to do. It was if at that point The Crow was the only
friend I had. As soon as I got close enough I put out my hand to touch the dark
bird. Just as my hand reached it's head, it flew away. I followed, not knowing
why I did nor where I was being taken.
We moved for an hour. The bird in the sky and me on the ground. I was amazed
that I could keep up with it. Afterall, it wasn't moving slowly and I wasn't the
healthiest person in my time. All thanks to teh previously mentioned acid and a severe addiction to Marlboro. Another thing that astonished me was that any
obstacles in my way were easily overcome. I jumped over fences, scaled walls and
at one point I even jumped from rooftop to rooftop like I was flying. Oh, the
strength I had...
We finally reached The Crow's destination. A long stretch of road going from the
suburbs to the town centre. Nausea hit my stomach and the bile began to rise in
my throat. This was where I had died. I remembered it all. Everything. Images
danced around my head.
~I had fought with my girlfriend, Anne, and left
the house in a state. I took her car and drove
down this very road. I could see myself talking
to thin air, beating the steering wheel with my
left hand. I watched as another car began to
speed up next to me. I cried as I saw the man
in the passenger seat click the safety on his gun
and then, BANG! They laughed as my car
swerved into a tree. I could feel the greed in their
eyes as they searched my body and removed all
my valuables.~
As soon as the memory was over, I collapsed onto the floor. Tears poured down my
face as I tried to come to terms with what had happened. Those bastards had cut
me down. They had killed for bits of pocket change. The Crow landed next to me
and pecked at my arm. I sat up and it hopped onto my lap. I went to stroke it's
head and that's when it hit me. Why I was here. It was as if The Crow was
speaking to me. There had been others before me. Others whose lives had been
taken away from them. Some of Us had been murdered. Some of Us had simply been
caught in a cross fire at a bank raid. Yet, no matter what had happened to Us,
We all came back because of one desire. To seek revenge. It's hard to explain,
but once the idea of revenge got stuck in my head, it became my only thought for
the next couple of weeks.
I began to hunt down the inhabitants of the car that drove past me. I was helped
by The Crow who seemed to know exactly where they all were. And when I got to
them I killed them. I suppose I could attempt to romanticise what I did, but I
can't. I slaughtered each one of the bastards. Yes, my soul cried out for my
death to be avenged, but each time I attacked, my soul stayed quiet and my
killer instincts took over.
When I had finished I was expecting to have this sudden urge to back to my
grave. Bye bye. See ya next life time. Just like the others before me and yet I
didn't. Instead I went back to the motel room I had rented with the money taken
from each one of my victims.
It was upon entering the room and turning on the light that I finally saw the
stranger in the mirror. I don't ever remember sitting down and deciding to wear
the clothes I was wearing. It just seemed like the thing to do. A way of helping
me to blend into the night. The black shirt and boots I had found in a skip. The
jacket and trousers were mine. I'd been buried in them and despite the state of
them, it seemed appropriate. Y'know, a sort of reminder of where I'd come from.
The only thing that I missed out was the make up. Yes, the others had used it,
but why should I? I mean, the clothes are a necessary evil with which I can
blend into the shadows, but the make up seemed redundant. Make up is used to
hide our faces and make us something which we are not. I didn't want to hide my
face. I wanted my victims to know who I was. As soon as I came round that corner
I wanted fear to grip their hearts and not let go until they had bled their last
drop. Boy, did it work! Have you ever seen a grown man piss himself? I understand
that it sounds kinda evil, but I couldn't care less. I see it as a warning to
anyone who feels they should attack those better then themselves. We will always
come back! Overall, without my make up I felt like I was adding more of an edge
to my already back form the dead image. If you killed someone, which would scare you more. Some wet drip in white make up looking like the killer from "Scream" OR the living breathing corpse of your victim. After looking in the mirror I switched
off the light, sat down on the bed and switched on the crappy black and white
TV.
A couple of hours passed. I lay on the bed and watched films, in particular
"Night of the Living Dead". Isn't ironic, don'tcha think?. A little too...
Just as the credits began to roll I heard a tapping at my window. I opened the curtains and there on
the sill stood The Crow. I opened the window and allowed it into the room. As
soon as the window opened, it flew into my arms. I was hit by thoughts again.
The Crow wanted to tell me something again. About someone... Someone....
ANNE!
~I could see her in her bedroom crying. A photo
in her hand. Couldn't make out who it was?
Could be me. Maybe not.~
No matter, I finally realised why I was here. I had attacked her when we argued.
I had struck her down. Hard. I don't why I did it. I just couldn't handle it. My
Anne. Why would I react that way? I had to meet her again. One last time. Tell
her how sorry I was. That was why I was still here. As long as she was in pain,
so would I. I spent the next hour getting ready. Washing my hair ad face. Trying
to make myself presentable. Once I was ready, it was time to go.
I nearly vomited again as I walked past my death spot. Though a sly smile did
arise when I thought of what I had done in the past week.
I stood at the top of the gate of our house and took a deep breath. I worked out
what I could do. I could walk down the path ad knock on the door. Then, when she
opened the door, I could kiss her and tell her how much I missed her and how
much I wanted to apologise for all the hurt I gave her We could talk for hours
and then just as day dawned I would take her upstairs and we could make love one
last time.
I could.
I may have done.
But, I didn't.
Instead, I turned around and walked back to my motel room. It had all become
clear to me as I stood at the bottom of the path. After we had made love, I
would have to tell her that I was no longer able to see her. She would cry and I
would not be able to comfort her. My selfishness would take over. I would want to
know why she was crying when it was me that was going to die again. She would
not understand and cry even harder. I would probably strike her again. I had to
leave this area.
That was two years ago. I now spend most of my time in an old building I found
outside town. No one comes here because they are afraid of the white faced man
with the black eyes who stays here. Yes, I have taken to wearing the make-up now. I
need to hide now. When I look into a mirror I don't want to be reminded of what I
was. What I am. A woman beater who was too chicken-shit to apologise. Not that apologising
would have done any good. As I said before, it would have only brought more
pain. So, I sit in my room and suffer. The Crow no longer visits. Perhaps it has
gone to find better people to bring back, like that Eric Draven guy. Sometimes I
think that this is why The Crow brought me back. In order that I could suffer
for my sins. Sorta like my own personal Jesus.
One day, I'll visit Anne.
One day.
One day, I'll raise the dead.
In the doorway of Glory
He finds Death
who puts his hand in hers
and whispers to him,
"Now...Come home, now."
"Soon", he says
THE END
Before I leave I just want to say that the character is not based on me, so I
don't want any e-mails form people saying I'm a nasty woman beater. I pride
myself that I have never hit anyone I loved.