Sitting on the stairs of the locker bays, I pan my view to the skies. They're bright and blue, an antilogy to the wind which beats into my blazer leaving me, as usual, shivering and dreaming of dark hot chocolate with marshmallows. When I say 'hot chocolate', I mean the denotative meaning of the lexeme, not the connotative one. I'm still dreaming of this when I hear a voice. A voice of a bird cawing. A damned raven is sitting on the branch with blue eyes, a shade lighter than the sky I see. We stare at each other. I know that I'm crazy because a part of me believes that it knows me. Encaptured by this bird, I can't take my eyes off it. It speaks to me. It speaks to me of dark and sad things and things I can't explain. It speaks to me of an empty place of a missing person. It speaks to me of reflection, regret and reason. And lastly it speaks of hope and hope being crushed. It cocks it's head to the side. Caws one last time. Then hops, off the branch, across the path and behind the bays where I hear the sound of it taking off, almost as if it didn't want me to watch it's magnificent flight. And leaves me to sit and stare where it once was. To reflect, regret and to reason.