The light of hope, the end of darkness; it seemed too good to be true. And it was.

Reaching the source of the light, there was only more darkness. The floor below the crow was lava. An entire floor of molten rock seemed to coat the room of otherwise normal white walls. Despite its terrible visage, the lava was the only light source, the ceiling being completely black, but that was inconsequential compared to what was in front of the bird.

A long plastic box had stretched from one end of the room to the other, its bottom exposed to the lava below. The walls were too thing to allow flight, but there was a string that would allow the bird to transverse safely over the deadly terrain.

Making his way across the trapeze act, the corvid’s weight made the rope sink and his own heart rise. Still, the combination of the rope’s height and the proximity of the walls would not allow the bird to fall.

As he continued to balance his way forward, the crow felt at ease knowing he couldn’t fall. There was a sense of comfort that came without the burden of death, a familiarity as if this was another puzzle, this one testing his bravado, confidence, and ability to recognize danger.

Then he met the obstacle that would flip his view on the situation. In front of him was a wall that would no long allow his progression forward, yet the rope continued onward, as if we to pass through the solid wall of plastic. The left and right wall had stretched outward briefly, giving him distance to fall, removing the prior safety from earlier.

It took the bird a moment to realize what he was to do. With a heavy heart, the corvid latched tightly to the rope and let his body swing to the right until he was now upside down, clinging desperately to the rope above.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Now closer to the molten rock below, the bird could see details he wasn’t privy to prior to the act, details such as the bottom of the plastic walls melting away. The walls that stretched to allow his fall had narrowed further down and on the path ahead. The distance between him and the lava meant there was no mercy. Looking back up, he could see his way forward, the once impassable wall now passable.

Slowly but securely, the bird inched his way across the rope. With every nudge forward, he fastened his grip to the new location, making absolutely sure not to let go. Soon, victory seemed but a few feet away, yet there was one vital issue, one fatal flaw in this plan: the blood from his legs was flowing to his head, numbness was beginning to settle in.

With a bit more boldness, the crow inched forward faster, now making two inches in the time it took to make one previously. Letting his mind do the busy work subconsciously, the crow looked back down. To his horror and ever-growing regret, he bared witness to more dead crows, their burnt bodies lying on bits of land too small to save the surviving corvid.

The crow’s stomach once again growled, but he was too busy inching along even faster than before to pay it any heed. The fear of falling was replaced with the fearing losing his grip, making the latter fear an inevitability if he did not hurry.

Rushing forward, he could see a small plastic path at the bottom would be his relief, if he could make it in time. Careless had led him to loosen his hold on the rope, causing one of his feet to dangle away. Swing his whole body backward, he managed to realign his foot with the cable, grab a hold of it, and with his remaining adrenaline he reached the end, letting his body flop onto the plastic lip.

“Day 146:

The lab is filled with interesting things, things that have no right being here. Sadly I had to clip the wings of some of my friends in order for them to legitimately test the course. The results are tragic. This was a mistake.”