You should cry, little girl
The night fell down suddenly, like a lonely star which decided to die. A softly wind was blowing from the East. There was one tramp dog seeking in the rubbish, maybe it hoped to find one piece of meat. Who knew? The moon was a big white piece of rock. Its light was dusty, sticky, cold. A few stars were putting up from the sky. The silence was flying along the streets like a dense shadow. One dark crow —even darker than the own night— seemed how if it was watching the lonely city. Many spoiled flats were struggling to stand up. The bloody city.
He arrived to Whispering Cross six months ago. It was a unfortunate day of August. Since then, Douglas Hooper can´t come out from the city. This bloody city, he thought leaned against the window. It was raining. Thin drops taking down, hitting against the glass.
—Where are you? —he muttered.
Few seconds later, Douglas returned into his apartment. There was no furniture barely. One brown leather sofa, two wooden chairs, one shelve and a little kitchen where to cook seemed impossible; anyway, he needn’t cook. It was a stupid way to waste his time. So he feeded himself with fast food. Of course, there was one bathroom. Anyone needs a bathroom. The crow was in the sill. It was gazing to Douglas like if it wants to say something and it didn’t find the precise words. What could want a lonely dark crow?
—Bloody and rotten city —he shouted meanwhile he was knocking the wall.
The crow, scared about the sudden noises, flew over the roofs, losing itself through the skinny light pulled out from the moon.