Wither The Vain: Wherever The Wind Blows Part 3

Exchanges

Corvus Corone: The Carrion Crow, devourer of the dead. They call a grouping of crows a murder.

Now myself, I have been accused of murder often enough to know better. While Seth was by all means a champion among The Sleepers and crow-kind in specific, he was not a murder. More of a scavenge.

So as he cawed and spread his wings, I reached into my pockets and pulled out a pair of black leather gloves. I pulled them on and zipped them up. Skintight.

This was going to be fun.

Wither The Vain: Wherever The Winds Blows Part 2

Cry Murder

I shaved in an alleyway with a rusty razor blade. It snagged skin, peeling it away like shaving a candle. I bled.

It was an uneven shave, but it would do. I threw the razor in the nearest dumpster. A tiny bit of metal still shined as it arced through the air and landed with a soft clang.

My face itched. The skin was already growing back over the muscle that had been laid bare. As my face became whole, the world lost focus and blurred. A picture taken out of speed.

The cataract was back again. I sighed and stroked the newly born skin. The trade was worth it.

I hated looking old.

Wither The Vain: Wherever The Wind Blows Part 1

Change

Cities like to shift their feet. So many ants squirming between their toes, they can't help it. So they go on a shifting, rocking everything back and forth. A city moves its foot a little to the left and a car takes out a transformer station. A little to the right, and a kid's ball rolls out into traffic. They can't help but shuffle their feet though. Too much squirming.

It had only been three days, and my hair was already white. Too small a change. Needed something bigger, juicier. The wall kept whimpering, like some three-year old scared of wettin' itself. Always came back to the walls. Never failed.