The crow’s eyes slowly took in the room before him. The glow of lights was back, but now it was sickly seaweed color, dim and flat. It fit well the scenery laid out before him.

The narrow tube hall had given way to a maze of string nooses, many were beckoning the bird forward. Perhaps more distressing than the ropes that asked for his complied suicide were the ones that already found their victim. Many a noose had taken a life, holding their lover in an embrace of death. It was a grave yard, and it was crying out to burry him in one its vacant, string graves.

Below the jungle of death was a bed of spears, equally hungry for blood as the ropes were for necks. Across from him, not even that far compared to the lava trapeze from earlier, was the exit. Unfortunately, the path required navigating ropes of varying heights.

Moving one-foot forward was the most terrifying experience yet, not the least of which because he had caught sight of one of the bodies moving, as if to warn him against such an action. Was the movement a trick of the mind or were the hosts still alive?

It was a thought too chilling to rest on, so the corvid made his first move, securing his grip on one ceiling lasso before quickly following suit with the other. Just as he began to ease himself amongst the deathly environment, the tiny ropes holding the bird up were beginning to sink. Without giving it a second thought, the crow pushed onward, grabbing another set of ropes, these ones even less capable of holding his weight.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Having no time to think, the third set of ropes were of mismatched high, causing the bird to dangle awkwardly. The position wasn’t pleasant, but to the black bird’s relief, his support was stable. Making his way forward would be a different matter, as the noose jungle grew thicker, with an increasing amount of bodies muddying the path to the exit.

Once he had planned his next couple of moves, the bird relinquished his safety and proceeded into the unknown danger. First he pulled himself closer to the ceiling, then back down to the height he began this torture. As the exit was within his reach, the worst outcome occurred: the bird grew comfortable and confident with the nooses, to the point he stopped checking whether they were fastened tightly or not.

Down, down the bird fell, into the bed of spikes. There was no time to regret his actions, his miscalculation, his hasty mistake. As he landed, the corvid was met not with penetrating spears that had eagerly awaited his fall, but instead the bodies of his fallen brothers.

With the exit straight above, the bird flew up in a rush, not wishing to dwell on thought of failure and the death that could have and should have been.

As he walked down the plastic hall, the sickly green light of the noose jungle began to fade, replaced by natural light. The bird would thank his unfortunate predecessors once he was free.

“It’s over. All of my friends are gone. I’ve scarred this building. I’ve ruined my life. None of that matters. I’ll join my fallen flock, I’ll fly away with them, where people like Sharp can’t hurt us.”