A Very Strange Day, Indeed.

By lulurose

Authors note:
The following is a pretty dark story. I wasn't really intending to turn out as it did when I first started writing it. I just knew originally that I wanted it to begin: "Something was amiss on Blackbird Lane." Anyways, comments and suggestions are always appreciated, and hopefully someone can find some sort of inspiration from it. Cheers.

Something was amiss on Blackbird Lane. Isabelle Roquefort knew it the moment she exited her cozy, clapboard cottage: number 452. The cold breeze made the small hairs on her arms stand up. She looked toward the sky and gasped upon noticing that it was the greenish-purple yellow of a festering bruise. She glanced around her. She walked quicker. Her three inch heel snapped in half, pitching her to the sidewalk. As her knee slowly turned the color of the sky, she picked herself up and started out again.
A raven, with feathers the color and texture of an oil slick, landed on her shoulder, approximately 6.5 inches away from her face. She hated ravens. Always had. She tried shrugging her shoulders, flicking the bird with her forefinger and thumbnail pursed together like a slingshot, pushing it forcibly away. The bird would not budge. It was almost as though it was glued to her shoulder.
She limped down the street, the bird strangely quiet, but an eerie and unsettling presence. A clap of thunder echoed a mile away. Only there was something off about the sound. It sounded more like a scream, then a clap of thunder. The sound haunted Isabelle, as she hugged herself and tried to walk faster. The breeze dusted the hairs on Isabelle’s arms again as she shivered. Suddenly, she felt something land on her. It was roughly the size of a large snowflake, but it wasn’t cold.
Isabelle closed her eyes. She inhaled a breath of air and held it inside for a moment before exhaling. Another thing floated from the sky and landed on her. This time she noticed something she hadn’t noticed before. This object seemed to have some sort of writing on it. She knelt down and studied it. There was one single word written on it: secret.
She shook her head and rose to her feet. Another word flitted from the sky and landed beside the first one. Isabelle picked up the second one which said: deception. Isabelle leaned back on her heels and started shivering more than ever.
The stupid bird was still resting on her shoulder. Angrily, she screamed at it. It simply stared at her out of its glassy black eye, and stayed put. Just then a whole slew of words began to flutter from the sky like a barrage of arrows. Anger. Death. Horror. Guilt. Each one fell faster than the other, stinging Isabelle harder with its implications.
She was heading towards a coven of trees. Once, she reached them, she had to be protected. She just had to be. The urgency weighed on her as she dragged her heavy feet towards the forest. There would be the answer to everything. She would find what she needed to do to make everything right again. To put her back in the grey area, walking the line between good and evil, as opposed to where she was now. The words just kept coming faster. She beat them away with her hands, trying to stop them. But what was set in motion was unable to be stopped.
The trees loomed closer now, she could almost touch them. Just a little further now, and she’d be safe. The words were coming down in an unrelenting torrent now. The street, once all asphalt, was now covered with snowy white pieces of accusation. Strangely, the words were all face up, as if they wanted to terrorize Isabelle with their meaning. Secret. Deception. Anger. Death. Horror. Guilt. Word upon word. .
Isabelle screamed and ran into the forest. Her mouth gaped open when she noticed that every single one of the trees had the same words written all over them. She couldn’t escape. It was all over. She couldn’t run away, couldn’t stop now. She sank to the ground. The bird detached itself from her shoulder.
The flashbacks started. The anger, the greed, the easy way that she’d killed him. She saw him lying there. Without breath. Without life. 452 Blackbird Lane. 4:52 in the afternoon. She heard a crack above her head and screamed. All of the paper words fell upon her crushing her with their blows. Isabelle Roquefort's death was 4:52 in the afternoon.

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 A Very Strange Day, Indeed.

Created: Feb 27, 2010

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