Chapter IV - IMature

The sun slowly rose on the little town of Gealach Samhraidh, filtered through the canopy of sea of trees it was buried inside and making it's way inside one of the bedroom of Dean's house. The room that belonged to the teen was larger than what Niall had always been used to, living in tenements all his life.

Posters of British rock bands hang from the walls, making it nigh impossible to determine their original color, Yes, Pink Floyd, Genesis, Led Zeppelin amongst many more. Beside the bed, there was a couch, on which Niall slept, a TV set with a Xbox, a computer desk and a large stereo that surely was worth a fortune.

When his eyes opened, Niall felt like hell, his head now bursting with insufferable horrible pain that echoed through his skull. Despite suffering like a martyr, he forced himself to stand up and look at his surroundings. Dean was still in bed, sprawled all over the mattress with his face buried in his pillow while snoring lightly, adding to the other's migraine. 

"Will you just shut up?" The Irish teen snarled while holding his head in his hands. 

He got to his feet and looked around for his jeans which he hastily put on despite the dirt, it wasn't like he had anything else to change into anyway. He then searched for his belt which had been slung over the flat screened TV. It took a moment however for Niall to register an unusual information about it. A bird was sitting on top of it... The midnight black raven stared at him, it's head tilted sideways, something odd glowing in the depth of it's obsidian eyes.

"What the fuck?" The teen commented out loud before wiping his eyes clean. When he looked back, the bird was gone, like it had just popped out of existence. "I must be going cuckoo."

He sat back down on the old gay couch on which he had slept and tried to make sense of what had just gone on. The more he tried, the less sense everything since the last day made. 

"What's with the birds?" He asked himself.

Thinking back about it, it seemed like ever since he had came to the hole that was the town, the buggers had been following him day and night, always looking at him like they were waiting for something, expecting something... But then he thought; Was it they or was the proper term 'It?' Admittedly, he couldn't tell a bird from another, but he had that strange feeling that it was the same one again and again. 

"Or maybe it's the migraine." He replied to his line of thoughts. "I must be seeing patterns, I can't think clearly for shite's sake."

The End

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