by: K. Jefferson
"Fly," she said to me, gently brushing aside a stray strand of undercolor, while adjusting and grooming my wings.
I wanted with all my heart to do so. Yet, my fear was an anchor around my ankles, holding me captive to the laws of gravity.
"Forget reality as you know it now...as you've always known it. Open yourself only to the endless possibilities of it all. Do not believe for a moment that any of it is concrete, for that very moment will be your undoing...and the fall will be very real," she urged.
I trusted her. A trembling right hand slipped into hers. She squeezed it reassuringly. "And whatever you do, don't go against the wind. Glide with it. Feel it beneath you. Be one with it," she instructed.
I shook my head nervously; an elementary gesture. I felt childish for being afraid. Me, the dare devil. The rogue. The silently audacious one who endeavoured to defy the odds, now nothing more than a wincing ninny.
Before I could delve further into my self-negating mental banter, she whispered "it is time," in barely audible brain-speak. I could not have predicted the push, though I should have expected it. My equilibrium flew off-center. A clever betrayal. Damn her! Or more appropriately, she damned me.
It registered moments after she shoved me off of the cloud. Moments far too late to be avenged. The fall would last forever, and it would be very real.
And so, I am Feather; an entity catapulted from the clouds by the hands of Grace.
My story begins as an end.
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