Ravens - William Johnson Y8

People say the raven’s call brings death. In most circumstances they would be wrong. But this one…

This one was a whole different story.

It was early morning when Lieutenant Harvey and his men were patrolling no-man’s-land. A coarse sound echoed through the air, the call of a raven that was sitting in a dead tree just a few feet away. It called again and cocked its head, staring into Harvey’s eyes. Another raven landed then another until the trees charred branches held thirteen ravens, the same amount of people in the lieutenant’s squadron.

The soldiers ignored the birds and marched on, rifles slung over their shoulders.

Ten minutes had passed when the men saw twelve ravens sitting in a tree by a river. Harvey spotted a dark shape down the river. He grabbed it. It was a helmet. He looked back to see eleven men behind him. He ordered his men to lie down and crawl back to the trench. As they crawled through the extreme environment rigged with harsh tangles of barbed wire, a raven called again. Harvey looked back, ten men. Harvey ordered his men to rise and sprint back. The stark yet jagged mountainside was beginning to get repetitive. A fourth raven called for death. A loud series of bangs repeated until the lieutenant was swept from his feet. He kept falling and falling as the empty black abyss swallowed him.