A year passed, and life went back to it's normal, dreary ways. Time pulled Erika along mercilessly, with many jobs that all ended quickly. Her canvas remained white and unpainted, since her masterpiece hadn't yet revealed itself. She found the days a tiny bit easier since the murders. The death of the man who had raped her helped ease the grip depression had put upon her thoughts. Damien and his father had been buried, with a small ceremony consisting of many crying friends and one hysterical kindergarden teacher, who had thrown herself onto her lovers coffin, sobbing for the life they would never have together. But time pulls all humans fowards, and painful memories dull in everyones mind. Damien and his father were soon just that, memories. Of a nice boy and his loving father who had been killed, how sad, by some street thugs. Just like many other people in the city. The killers were never identified, and the case was pushed into the back of some filling cabnet in the police station, never to be heard of again. Or so they thought. Anyone who went to visit Damiens grave would notice a large, midnight black crow perched not far away. Never two, or three, as crows often travel. But always the one, and if anyone had bothered to check, would have seen that it was always the same one, never moving from his perch above the grave for an entire year. Snow, sun, rain and hail all passed by, but the crow nevered moved, never ate, never streched his glossy wings. But no one bothered to check, and when they placed a flower by the grave they'd notice a crow and dismiss it as nothing. Erika came to the grave once in a while to pay respects. It helped to ease the nightmares that came once in a while, of black powder pushing her down, pressing into every pore of her body, squezing the breath out of her, while she cried out to no one who listened. Visiting the boy's grave helped, but she always left with a sence of unease. Finally it was an entire year later. A cold wind shuffled the few long-dead roses from the base of the gravestone. It was midnight, barely minutes from when Damien had screamed his last cry of rage towards the men. For the first time the crow shifted and spread his wings, which made a loud rustling in the crisp air. He cawed shrilly, over and over, hopping from one foot to the other in agitation. The ground shook, tremmors rocked the earth and gravestones. The crow gave a loud, screaming caw, and the ground split apart with a mighty clap of thunder. A coffin, long under the dirt, was revealed and opened. Damien lay there, looking exactly as he had a year ago, barely dead. The crisp air filled his colapsed lungs, his heart pulsed for the first time in ages, blood coursed through long unused veins. His eyes opened slowly, and a spasm shook his body. Breathe, out, in, out. One by one the basic functions of life were remembered, and he sat up painfully. Pain, which he hadn't known in so long, pain wracked his mind and body, everything hurt, the breath that rattled in his chest caused searing pain. He slowly pulled himself up into the enveloping silence and darkness. His name...was Damien. A rush of memories made him yell out in shock, as his entire life flashed before his eyes and took it's rightful place in his memories. He lay on the ground for several minutes, just breathing, remembering his last night alive. He'd died, that fact shone clear in his mind, but everyhting that was happening now eluded him. The crow let him rest for a while, before it hopped down to his side. He glanced at it. It looked intently at him. They stared at each other for a full minute, Damien with no idea what was happening. The crow suddenly screeched and thrust it's beak with surprising strength into his exposed arm. He screamed and jumped back, as a long wound opened and began to bleed. He stared at the crow in shock. Crows didn't attack people, did they? He was about to scare it away when the pain from the cut suddenly stopped. He looked at the cut, and the bloodstained sleeve. It was gone. Absolutley gone. He stared in disbelief, before on an impulse her grabbed a nearby stone and smashed into his hand with it. He cried out in pain when he felt a bone snap, but in a moment the pain stoped, and his hand was fine. The crow spread it's wings and flew a few feet away, then turned it's golden eyes back to him, as if saying come. Damien stood up shakely, having no other idea of what to do. The crow would fly ahead, then wait for the poor dead boy to stumble on weak feet to catch up. What he needed was rest, every with every step her took he felt a newfound power filling him, but at the same time an overwhelming exaustion. He was alive, he was dead, he couldn't be hurt, and was following a crow. The grey clouds parted and a steady, hard driving rain began to pour. Damien's already slow progress was delayed further, as he lost sight of the crow often in the tourrent of water. His clothes were blackened with dirt, as was his face. The crow flew to a door and perched above it, inviting the tired boy to rest. Damien took one step up onto the stood and colasped. His mind had been overloaded, and all he wanted was to sleep. Not that he had any choice, sleep was closing on him like a net, and he couldn't escape. To ease his troubled thoughts, he promised himself that once he woke up, everything would be figured out. But for now, the hard concrete steps seemed inviting, and he fell into unconcousness.

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