Black Birds

Reads: 127  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 2

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
Based on a recent nightmare.

Submitted: December 27, 2018

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Submitted: December 27, 2018



He’s running, fearing for his life. The black birds, so full paranoia and hatred, chase him. They peck at his eyes-- the poor bloody eyes-- over and over, showing him visions of his inevitable death. The pain in his body is sharp, but not constant. Wave after wave, they come at him. Following him at every turn, they ruin his life, slowly eradicating all forms of sanity and feelings of comfort. His own home comes alive and hostile, as the birds peck at the flesh on the walls. He tries to talk to others, only to have them pass him by . They are all the same, they’re all running from the black birds. The black feathers covered in dry blood, those bloodshot eyes, leaking black tar. Their calls are like screams of pain, from a legion of tortured souls. The visions they cause are those of bleeding hearts and the most unimaginable, sickening acts of cruelty.

Living as a recluse, always running, he is convinced he has to die in order for them to stop. The black bird plague spreads in his world, perhaps even throughout the entire world. If this is what becomes of the living, what happens to the dead?

The black birds would claim his soul, eternally consuming and regurgitating it infinitely. Knowing this, the only option to him is to become trapped in another place, a type of limbo for those seeking some form of peace. Praying to whatever god dares listen to the cries of the eternally cursed, he removes his bleeding eyes and crushes them on his hand. Screaming in pain, someone finally listens, other than the birds.

A god living in an infinitely regenerating body, covered in rotting flesh. The stench is enough to drive anyone to madness, and its eerie aura of malevolence turns the stomach more than its appearance. It promises the man two things: a place to hide forever, and eternal life for his body and soul. The man, knowing full well what it means to have a god living in flesh present in the real world, understands there must be a price to pay. The cost, the god says, is that he will have to suffer watching his world end. The plague of the black birds cannot be stopped, as they bring a plague from the stars.

The never ending death. It all returns to nothing, and the man can only watch with the eyes of his soul, as everything he once loved rots away to the plague, much like the rotting flesh of the living god.

He notices a fracture within the walls of his limbo. The rotting god is now on the ground, dead again, waiting to be reborn. In the years that follow, he awaits the end of his soul. He accepts the demise of his world, and his limbo. Those horrible sounds arrive, with those familiar black feathers.

They peck and slowly chip away at the walls of his limbo.


© Copyright 2019 Dave Davidson. All rights reserved.

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