Deadly Drabbles - Murder of Crows

War is Hell

I watch them as they swoop down, the moonlight catching their black feathers and making it look as though they are sparkling. They begin to peck at the dead and dying, beaks picking at torn flesh.

My gorge rises as I watch them tear away strips of meat, heads thrown back as they devour the feast. More of them come to the killing ground, several of whom alight on my injured body.

I expected pain, but when they begin to peck and tear at my wounds, I feel nothing but calm. Death will come soon, claiming a victim of war.