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The city had slowly gone to sleep, as Saturday night slipped into the wee hours of Sunday morning. The blackened sky above the earth shone with millions of glittering stars, only dimmed by the light of the streets across the distance. The moon was full, casting pale, white light along the darkened roads of the the abandoned warehouses and factories in the industrial district. No lights were cast from the buildings here. Only those who moved, eyes able to see through the debris of old wreckage with only starlight to guide them, were safe in this place.
Sharp, gray eyes were cast down as wings beat against the air. At two in the morning, it was a single raven's cawing that broke the silence and stillness of the night above a factory. His silken plumage took on a bluish glow under the moonlight, the night's colors bouncing off the perfect ebony of his feathers. He soared above smoke stacks, free as the wind, singing in the voice of the clever raven. His existence was a lovely, but lonely one. He had no flock following behind him, no murder of crows tailing him.
He circled under the moon, following the lines of its bright halo against the cold winter air, then swooped down. His clawed feet fell out first, as he steered himself down. They hooked onto a heavy metal pole that hung, lining the edge of the window, the rusted remains of the bars that once stood tall and protective over each glass pane. The window was broken inward, dusty glass covering the floor behind him as the bird folded his great wings, and looked up. He cawed out again, serenading the moon. The wind blew through the empty building, whistling as it went.
But Sinner's eyes did not turn toward the noise. Their gray color remained on the sky, counting the stars as he sang, letting random notes leave his black beak. He was restless, unable to let sleep claim him. His hope had been, if he used the great muscles in his chest to lift off into the air, and flew away his troubles, that he would finally be able to lay himself to rest. But even now, after having spent several hours amongst the clouds, he had not found the drowsiness he so searched for. His song to the moon, and the calm it brought him, were perhaps his last remaining hope to get some sleep before the sun began to creep over the horizon and assault his eyes with its unholy, fiery light.
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<div style="width:470px;background-color:#ffffff;font-family: helvetica,calibri;color:#ffffff;font-size:12px;letter-spacing:0px;text-align:justify;padding-bottom:15px;">
<div style="padding-right:10px;padding-left:10px;padding-top:10px;padding-bottom:10px; background-color:#4d4d4d">
The city had slowly gone to sleep, as Saturday night slipped into the wee hours of Sunday morning. The blackened sky above the earth shone with millions of glittering stars, only dimmed by the light of the streets across the distance. The moon was full, casting pale, white light along the darkened roads of the the abandoned warehouses and factories in the industrial district. No lights were cast from the buildings here. Only those who moved, eyes able to see through the debris of old wreckage with only starlight to guide them, were safe in this place.
Sharp, gray eyes were cast down as wings beat against the air. At two in the morning, it was a single raven's cawing that broke the silence and stillness of the night above a factory. His silken plumage took on a bluish glow under the moonlight, the night's colors bouncing off the perfect ebony of his feathers. He soared above smoke stacks, free as the wind, singing in the voice of the clever raven. His existence was a lovely, but lonely one. He had no flock following behind him, no murder of crows tailing him.
He circled under the moon, following the lines of its bright halo against the cold winter air, then swooped down. His clawed feet fell out first, as he steered himself down. They hooked onto a heavy metal pole that hung, lining the edge of the window, the rusted remains of the bars that once stood tall and protective over each glass pane. The window was broken inward, dusty glass covering the floor behind him as the bird folded his great wings, and looked up. He cawed out again, serenading the moon. The wind blew through the empty building, whistling as it went.
But Sinner's eyes did not turn toward the noise. Their gray color remained on the sky, counting the stars as he sang, letting random notes leave his black beak. He was restless, unable to let sleep claim him. His hope had been, if he used the great muscles in his chest to lift off into the air, and flew away his troubles, that he would finally be able to lay himself to rest. But even now, after having spent several hours amongst the clouds, he had not found the drowsiness he so searched for. His song to the moon, and the calm it brought him, were perhaps his last remaining hope to get some sleep before the sun began to creep over the horizon and assault his eyes with its unholy, fiery light.
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