Flock of Crows?

Investigation scene.

      A tall dark haired man quickly exited the lonely ranch house. He glanced down the empty country road and darted into the trees.

      Cop cars and a crowd of sobbing neighbors surrounded the house. The house looked as if it too were sullen. One cop, Paul, began to set up a perimeter. He turned around to go inside the house, next to him was the chief. As soon as they opened the door a cold breeze swept across their faces. The interior of the house was organized and quaint. In the back room there was a single wooden rocking chair. It was painted a light purple and had a small closet in the corner.

"Make sure to check the closet. We can't miss anything."

      Paul approached the closet confidently in hopes to impress the chief. He opened the door in one swift movement. His cheesy grin melted away, and his face grimaced. In the small closet hung a young woman, not much older than twenty. A sign draped around her neck that said in a thick red paint: I know who did it. The chief poked his head in just enough around Paul to see the body, "You think it's a suicide?"

"I don't know chief. Looks pretty messy to me."

      The two started their way out of the small house and back out into the yard. When they reached the yard a group of large black birds flew over the house.

"Oh, great, a flock of crows." Mumbled the chief. Paul squinted and looked into the sky. A shiver crawled up his spine.

"No," he said. "It's a murder."

Author's Note

This was an assignment for a creative writing class I took. The assignment was to write a story about a murder of crows. A group of crows is called a murder.