The Crow chapter 1

I walked along the shallow shores of the beach, the waves gently sliding in and out. The lighthouse stood atop a large black cliff overlooking the ocean. The smell of salt water was a comforting reminder that I was finally home. Collage had been difficult to get through, but I had managed to major in Art. Someday, I promised myself, I would paint this ocean scene using delicate strokes of the brush and to illustrate the intricate detail of nature. Walking along the beach, I noticed a small bird struggling to flap its wings to take flight. I ran over to it and gently picked it up, examining the damaged wing.
“Aw, you poor thing. Your wing’s broken. Let me get you inside.” I held the bird close to my stomach so that it would feel less threatened and ran over the sandy hill and into the little house. The walls were beautifully decorated in my artwork-winding vines with red blossoms, blue flowers with yellow stamen, and seagulls gliding around the room. Holding the small bird in one hand, I managed to grab a small towel and wrap it in a circular pattern, forming a nest-type fold. I gingerly set the bird in the cloth and went to grab some doctor’s tools. Fortunately, I also studied Medicine.
When I returned, I quickly but gingerly fixed the bird’s wing. After I was done, I
called the vet to ask them to keep an eye on it. They came by to pick it up in the next few minutes. That’s what’s good about living in a small town: distance was not a problem.
Later, I had dinner with my dad. He had made his delicious secret spaghetti. The recipe was a well-kept secret as far as he was concerned. He congratulated me again for graduating college, patted my head like only a father can, and sent me off to bed.
I woke to the sounds of a storm. It raged outside like a hurricane, whishing and rattling the small house. I stepped outside to see what was happening. I crowd had gathered near the lighthouse, all of the people were screaming and waving their arms as if trying to signal something. I squinted against the screaming darkness, and finally saw what everyone was looking at. A boat. It was heading towards the cliffs, going to crash. The lighthouse bulb had gone out. I ran outside and into the crowd and joined them in screaming out heads off to warn the poor sailor who couldn’t see the tall threatening cliffs towering above. I looked around to see if there was any way I could get onto the cliff to make myself more apparent. That’s when I saw him. His long black cloak draped down his body and down the side of the cliff he was on. He was sitting on the cliff’s edge, staring solemnly into the storm. He tall scythe leaned against his right shoulder, though I could only see him from his left side. His dark black wings were hung low, as if in defeat. He was unaffected by the wind.
His head turned to face me, and an expression of awe crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself and turned quickly away from me to face the storm.
The boat collided with the cliff, and the crowd put their hands down and went silent. I paid no attention. I was still looking at him. I could tell that my eyes burned into his back, because he seemed uncomfortable. The crowd around me left me there, alone with him. Why couldn’t they see him?  I turned to me again, staring directly into my eyes. He was probably asking himself why I could see him. I stood there on the ground below the cliff were he stood, so far away but yet so close. The cold rain prickled my skin and made me shiver. He noticed that and before I knew it he was ten feet away. Did he teleport?
He glared at me with a solemn and silent awe, probably trying to scare me away. I took a step towards him, and he stiffened in turn and hid his face in his hood, as if scared of ME.
I walked towards him, and he flared his wings like an eagle would if threatened. His presence radiated like a star. He grasped his scythe tightly in his bone fingers, as if threatening to use it. I was not five feet away from this monster. He turned his head sideways as if trying to decode me, to figure me out, but to no avail. I was now two feet away. One. I reached out to touch him, but he flapped once, something like smoke blinding my vision while he made his getaway.
That was our first meeting.