Fiction logo


The Battle Within

By Raven BlackPublished 3 months ago 3 min read

Raven’s Rage

The crushed smoked air soaked the room as he stepped through the narrow cold stone entrance. A constricting burn cast a bloody shadow within his crimson charcoaled soul. He lacked an empathy for humanity, the acrid stench of it wallowing in its own self pitied destruction made his eyes shimmer black and empty.

Devilish sparks cascaded off his brown and black leather boots at each step as he demonically crossed the room. His fists clenched in defiance at the world around him, lusting with anger at the serpents sat slithering on their bleak oaken chairs.

“You have done this to yourselves and now you all sit waiting for your Messiah,” he crackled and spat through a satanic laugh as his eyes permeated around the candle wax lit room.

A terror of silence encapsulated the cramped and darkness filled space as he stood watching, judging all within.

“God gave you paradise and you turned it into your hell through greed by chasing bits of paper and metal over the people you love. Ha, God is not here anymore. What good is freedom if you cannot manage the responsibility of it? You, kill your own unborn because you want the freedom, but cower and project all the weight that comes with it. None of you deserve this land, this world, this breath in your lungs,” he fired like a volcano’s flame.

Tempering Soul

She stood there, half-lit by the flickering tongue of the corners light, her dragon-red dress cut like an hourglass over her body.

“Your eyes are so familiar, yet so distant, Sir,” she spoke, locking her eyes deeply into his thousand-yard gaze.

Gracing her with a snarl, he replied, “You still believe in this world, I can see it within the light in your eyes, why do you still have hope?”

A gathering of soulless black clouds filled the sky as the knife-sharp raindrops stabbed the earth below, snaps of lightning forked the bleakness as if the Gods were at war.

Standing in defiance of the gathering clouds, she bravely responded, “Hope is what makes life worth it, Sir.” Glancing up at the darkened sky, she randomly questioned, “Are you afraid of those menacing clouds?” A smile danced across her face in the broken light before she continued, “I’m not.”

“I don’t fear life, I just don’t believe in it. I’ve seen its true nature, heck, I’m sitting back watching it burn. It was warned one day they would go looking for peace and wouldn’t find it. Their Savior has deserted them as have I.” he clawed back at her.

Briefly touching his hand, she looks up as the sky rains molten ash down to the soaked ground. She whispers, “If it’s time for the world to end then why fight it? I’m just going to have fun while it lasts.”

Prancing to the twisted metal carousel, now rusted by time and neglect, she sits atop a horse with broken wings as her heart glistens at the distant sky.

Scything through his thoughts as he flipped his panther black lighter from his pocket, flicking it open and igniting it, staring through narrowed eyes at the flame, his mind drifted like a flotsam on the ocean.

“I lost faith, faith in everything. Let it burn and renew,” he mumbled cautiously as his eyes became engulfed in a raven’s wing abyss.

“I love those black eyes, My Hades,” she affectionately responds. “The flames behind your eyes never frighten me, but the ironic thing is, they terrify you, My Love.” Stretching her hand out to him, the way someone may call a wayward raven, she beckons for him to join her on the spinning merry-go-round of rusted ponies.


He coughed as the coastal breeze twisted the ground-up rock that he was perched upon, pencil and paper in hand. A blurred vision greeted him as he desperately tried to focus on the lined parchment before him as his mind floated and disassociated from him.

“Morning,” called the voice of an unwelcomed stranger, he replied with a gritted and forced smile, “Morn to you too.”

The graphite object in his hand shook and trembled at every attempt to write the words his essence wanted to say. A burning tear dripped lonely down his cheek in mourning as he wrote, “I am already dead.”

*** As with life, nothing is linear, so stories should never make sense.

Stream of ConsciousnessShort StoryMysteryExcerpt

About the Creator

Raven Black

He stepped out into the street, cloaked in his midnight-smoked suit and twisted-brown leather boots, shouting to the world, "Writing is my religion, and this is my church."

Hi, I'm Raven Black, and writing is my passion.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments (2)

Sign in to comment
  • Dharrsheena Raja Segarran3 months ago

    “I lost faith, faith in everything. Let it burn and renew,” This line perfectly describes my thoughts. Loved your story!

  • Isabella Rose3 months ago

    I loved writing this one with you, My Beautiful Raven. xxxx

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.