House of Crows

Darkness. Pure depth. An unfathomable void.

Those are exactly the words that would describe the room I am currently locked up in. Maybe not even. Because words are not enough to define this confinement I belong in. No adjective could define the sorrow I am feeling. No noun could put into words and give a visual image of what I’m currently seeing. Then again, what am I seeing? Nothing. Maybe I will grow accustomed to the deep pit of black that surrounds me in all corners. My eyes for sure have not. Neither did my mind.

I remember the happy moments I shared with my girlfriend, moments after we cruised off into the sunset. Her hands oily, yet soft to the touch. Her face glistening in the beautiful rays of light that shine through the windshield. Our bodies warmer than the sun, our words chirping nicer than the feathered wonders of black bodies filled with agony and despair, yearning for attention, still fighting against any trial of empathy, screaming, yelling, shrieking even, how these wonders turn into nightmares and nightmares shape the creature-

Crows. I hate those fucking creatures.

Their black eyes invitingly chilling. Their shriek confusingly aggravating.

They seemingly surround me in this abyss, and I can feel their claws pinching into my very skin.

One after another. The past hours (or has it been days?) have turned my body limp, and desensitized me from any form of pain. Whether mental or physical. Better yet, their abrupt offense measures aid me in finding the constraints of this room. I am not a bat, nor do I have echolocation integrated into my human body, but spending time in darkness opens up new possibilities. To see, for example. But not by the retina. Merely the sounds start shaping and forming new pathways to listen for and figure out actually in what kind of deep shit I am currently confined in.

The sounds (crows) start approximately 20 feet in front of me from the right. Take a sharp turn left, and then immediately focus on a single point of attack. Me. The caged bird, which I currently am, is being separated from every feather on his body. Detached from any remark of humanity that I would have left in me. If it weren’t for this godawful room, and these fucking creatures.

I get up, slowly start sprinting towards the opposite direction, assuming there is any sense of direction left in me, but obviously there is, my eyes are open now, or are they? no it’s my ears, am I thinking straight, I can’t do this anymore, just keep running, maybe you’ll finally find-

Wall. Cold cement. As hard and pain-bearingly obvious as the emotions that have left me throughout the time I have spent in here. I touch. I feel. But have lost all kinds of feel. We are back at the beginning with, “What do I even feel?” Like the blind man that I currently am, I slide my fingers, deprived of any touch or sensation, into the crevices of the wall in front of me. The possibility of finding any form of opening excites me. Maybe a door. Maybe an exit. Maybe a light. Any form of change in temperature, tension, light, or mood would give me hope. That excitement lingers. And then it gets shed, together with the blood dripping off my forehead. Those creatures again. I thought I ran far enough. I grip any form of energy that I can muster, courageously hoping for a light, not a literal one, that doesn’t exist anymore, does it? no it does not, it never did, this room is a lie, my life was one too, the girlfriend, doesn’t even exist, why, did, I, make, that, up.

I am not myself anymore, am I? My fingers stop. I feel subtle differences in the cement. Heightened pieces protruding, waiting to be put into motion. Is there a code, is there something I am missing?

I can sense the outlines of glyphs. Is it numbers? Or maybe even letters? Something I can read? Maybe “read,” derived from the Old English “rǣdan”, which meant to advise or interpret symbols, is the wrong word at play here. Since I am not visibly reading anything. I am feeling it, and that feeling gets transferred into my subconscious. If I still have one left. I can feel out specific outlines from the alphabet. I cannot think straight, nor can I combine or calculate. The words my mother used to mutter come to mind: “Hige sceal þē heardra, heorte þē cēnre, mōd sceal þē māre, þē ūre mægen lytlað.” Any moment I lack courage in, those words would heighten me. Just as my perception is heightened impromptu.

The walls are closing in. This great hall is big enough for it not to be a worry, yet that fear lingers inside me. I can feel the ground moving, tectonics shifting, crows fleeing. Moment by moment, minute by minute. Then again, my perception of time is shifted as well. I cannot tell how fast or how slow the change is happening. But a change is designated. Am I doomed? Maybe this is it. But no, remember the words. My spirit must be greater in dire times. I grasp my sense into my consciousness and start visualizing each letter I am touching. It reminds me of how she used to teach me. Visualize them. Back to basics. I draw after each stroke. I am slowly understanding now. I can “feel” the letters…

A straight way, leading to two separations. Y.

A circle. Closed. No way out. O.

A curved one, this time. An open ending. U.

Further form of braille, and I have concluded that the first passage reads “you were never…”.

You were never...what? I can’t make sense of any-

A dark voice echoes from behind. The shifting of the room halts. An eerie whisper engulfs my soul.

“You were never supposed to find out”.

(This story ties in two prompts at once.)