Wild-eyed, I swung the knife down to stab the man who had brought food to me and gave me protection, his name was Clayton, and I was going to kill him. He wasn’t my father, I don’t remember my parents, but he was the closest thing to a parent I ever had.

The knife was inches away from piercing his heart, ending his miserable existence.


I heard a sound similar to the snapping of a twig and the knife was stopped by a gnarled wooden hand. My knife had pierced the scarecrows hand. I slowly turned my head around in shock to see the wooden man’s eyes locked into mine.

“I-I-I’m sorry.” I said breathlessly.

He is okay. The red-eyed crow said, flying through the window and perching himself on the scarecrow’s wooden shoulder as the scarecrow pulled the knife out of it’s, no, his hand and the wood reformed together seamlessly.

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