“What was the first sign?” The boy asked him. “My dream,” he responded, “in my dream, I saw a feather floating in mid-air. It wanted to fall, for that was its purpose: and it wanted to fulfill this mandate – but couldn’t; it tried to get away from the wind that held it, from the mind that propped it up: it pushed it in one direction, then another; and each time, the fight was in a sea-saw motion; and I understood the feather had no choice, except to wait until the wind died; and until such time, it was destined to float against its will and the wind knew this.” The story was meant to explain his position, and the question from the boy was designed to make Sces understand whom he had been and that it had nothing to do with whom he could be. The boy held a smile that was beyond Sces to see. “I don’t hold anything with my hands, except that I feel the pulse of my heart on the tip of my fingers.” The boy told him.
Short Stories
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Well written. I like the symbolism of the feather, it brought a greater understanding of what the boy truly sees and what he really wants.