Crows Like Shiny Things Novels & Stories

It reminds me of being at the beach with the salty air on my skin. The ground is covered in thick, green grass, and there are all kinds of beautiful flowers and trees all around. And there are a lot of birds, singing, flying, and sitting on branches. I've never seen birds like this before. They're like a hybrid between crows and peacocks. Or maybe like parrots with feathers instead of scales. I wonder if they're dangerous. As we walk, the grass gets higher and higher, until it's taller than me and Alec. It shimmers in the sunlight, as if it's made of plastic.

Surprisingly, when he rushed into the bar I had gotten loosened, it broke free. It clattered onto the ground with more noise than I had hoped for. Although, it must have worked since I heard a loud screech just moments before I saw a large black bird fly from the fog, perhaps as large as Desmond was. Shortly after I saw there was a swarm of them following close behind. When they got closer, I saw they were crows, which I had always heard were known to go hand in hand with witches. Or maybe it was ravens, but I couldn’t be sure at the moment. Trying to figure out what it was, wasn’t my concern right now.

“Tell me.” Her smile grew. “They call us crows. Because of the way we look, dark crow’s eyes, and dark hair, like their feathers. And because we’re also very, very good at knowing when there’s going to be blood. You can see flocks of them sometimes flying over to-be-battlefields because they recognize the signs. Swarms of them, all ready to scavenge.” “And you think you’re a crow now? Is that it?” She pushed the heel of her wrist against his chest, palm scraping against the edge of his shoulder collar. “Don’t tease,” she mock-warned. “Trust my instincts.”

He looked at the door in anticipation as he thought to himself, "These next few years are going to be interesting." Mane looked at the creatures that were flying a few feet above his head. These beasts were grey in color with a patch of black on the feathers of their necks. They were as large as an average ten year old and looked like large sized crows. And they were extremely tricky. Mane wrinkled his brow at how much work these crows had given him. These birds were called black necked crows. They were known for their speed and evasiveness, as well as their high attack prowess. Fortunately, these birds had very poor defense and so that could be exploited. Unfortunately, their great speed ma

When I went to take the shake, he turned to me and pointed at the parking lot. “I wonder whose car that is?” he remarked and turned back to the window. I followed his gaze and nearly dropped the chocolate milk all over the table. My car was covered in crows. Crows sat on the roof and hood, some even perched on the wing mirrors. There had to be at least fifty of them. “Is that a flock of crows?” The kid’s mother asked. The little kid shook his head. “It’s not a flock when it’s crows, mama. It’s a murder.” The kid turned to me. “It’s a murder of crows.”

I stared at the ceiling, at the faint cracks in the wood, at the window where light peeked in. Then, movement outside caught my eye. Crows. Dozens of them. Flying from the east, black wings beating violently against the pale sky, their cries loud and harsh like warnings. A shiver ran down my spine. Something was coming. Something bad

“Who are the girls with bright hair?” “Oh,” Chrissy said. “Those are my friends. They’re magpies.” “So they store a lot of things?” Lusa asked. Nate and his cousins chuckled. “She means they are bird shifters.” “Those two are kleptos,” Chastity giggled. Chrissy shook her head, grinning. “They can’t help it. It’s their bird brains. If they see something shiny or colorful, they just have to have it. They’ve been banned from more malls and stores than I can name, but they’re fiercely loyal.”

Cuckoo. A crow squawked and pecked at one of the window ledges. Antony, who recognized the crow, immediately opened the dining room window. A cold wind blew hard that brought snowflakes. Their eyes stung, and reflex covered their faces. Quickly, Antony closed again. He gets annoyed that his hair is wet. He shook off the dew clinging to his hair.

"Did Ms. Thrushwood run into trouble? Otherwise why haven't you logged in for two whole days? Wait, who are you?" The crow's eyeballs spun rapidly as it examined my mom. "You smell like a boss but why can't I see your level?" My mom smiled faintly. "Long time no see, little crow. Do your eyeballs still fall out?" The crow froze, then started flapping excitedly. Its' eyeballs clattered all over the floor. Mom stroked her chin and said, "Looks like I need to get you some new glue." There was a loud clang at the door.

Normally, he avoided those creatures at all costs, especially crows, because, while they were good enough to hunt and carry off unsuspecting prey, there was nothing pleasant about their presence in his house. Their screeching voices and shrill cries haunted him every single night when he woke up. He always pretended that he didn’t hear anything. But this crow…it was different. There was no denying that it was watching him as he approached it. He watched it cautiously for several moments, his gaze fixated on it. He tried to figure out what it wanted. He studied it carefully and waited patiently for it to speak, hoping to discover a clue about its intentions. But, apart from looking at him wit