It sits in front of my face, taunting me. It pokes at my head, going lower and lower before reaching my eyes. Laughing, I beg the crow to do it. I scream at it. I curse at it. I cry at it, yet, it doesn’t move or even flinch. Instead it stares at me with is beady-black soulless eyes. I cry out once more. It starts moving around again. I watch helplessly as it goes to the window. Staring right at me, the crow begins laughing. It starts squawking, almost laughing at my pain. I watch as the bird flies away, leaving me alive. I lie there, broken, battered, bruised, and covered in blood and feathers of various birds. I scream and scream and scream, but no one hears me. I thrash around more and more, feeling my blood squish around and my ripped skin and muscles pull apart even more. I stop, feeling my pulse finally wither and slow down, ready to cease. I hear the steady thrum through what’s left of my ear. I close my eyes, ready to die, but through another series of unfortunate events, that time didn’t happen fast enough. I didn’t die fast enough. The birds came back though, and finished off my body, in the most painfully slow