We were read a short story and then told to write whatever came into our heads.
All is dark.
Not a whisper,
Not a movement,
Not a sound.
The thick gray blanket covers all.
Choking.
Smothering.
Destroying.
From far away, something stirs.
A soft white wing bursts through.
Doleful tweeting breaks the darkness.
Shivering.
Struggling.
Fighting.
The small bird rises from the ash,
Gray flecks cling to its head.
A single cry fills the air.
Only silence greets it.
The bird takes flight.
A flurry of feathers.
A string of song.
Moonlight glints of the white wing,
And the bird is gone.
Gray clouds cover the moon.
And all is dark.
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