Ravens are so much more than people think. They have the foresight to save up for the future, emotional quirks, and empathy.

I like to think that's why they call me Raven. Not because I'm a pest, not because I'm supposedly disgusting. Maybe they call me a raven because I look like one, with my ebony hair, dark eyes and jeans, and, to top it all off, a black hoodie. Maybe that's why.

Since my family moved I've been looking for a home - as in a place where I belong. My house isn't a home. I'm barely welcome there. My school isn't a home. They think I'm weird because I'm silent. They'll learn one day why I'm so quiet.

Walking home from school one day, I found a section of sidewalk missing, and so I stepped into the trees as an alternative. That was the first time I really noticed how simple everything could be.

Towering trees roofed with green combined with some grass and shrubs could maybe, just maybe, be my home. I would never have to worry about losing it, like how I would with a group of friends at school or a family that I would one day move away from.

As I found the sidewalk paved once more, I ran home.

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By the time I arrived I was a panting mess, but something about it felt good. Not giving myself a second to return to a normal breathing pattern, I raced into the trees and lost myself.

The appearance of things. My school was a brick building with some blue paneling and, obviously, windows and doors. Two stories tall, the first floor being for sixth and eighth grade, the second purely for seventh. My house was painted the color of aged paper, with wooden steps leading up to a hardwood door. The roof was flat. The trees around me were thick at the base and got skinnier as height increased. Alright, time to move on to touch--

Is that some raw chicken?! I began to inch closer to the mysterious object/being, only for it to run away. An albino fawn.

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I had writer's block and I'm just now writing again and this is kinda bad but I'm posting it anyways.