The White Feather

Fingers of sunlight touched the moss-covered stones, the ferns enclosing them protectively. Close to the center of the glade, made partially invisible by veils of ivy, was a waterfall, which tumbled into smooth spirals upon the stream below. The water in the pool reflected the moonlight like it would appear through the eyes of an insect, with countless sparkling child moons like fish, dancing and twining through the grey-green ripples.

Standing in the eye of the ripples was a man. His long hair was white and feathered, like his wings, which had no primary feathers and fell close to the ground as if they were bound. The flute he played was made of chestnut-coloured wood, with patterns on it matching the water rising and falling at his feet as he played.

I had to come closer, my feet moved of their own will. With neither softness nor stealth, twigs were ruthlessly severed, moss was uprooted, and pebbles rolled away into the dust. The music stopped. My senses came rushing, and my legs fell beneath me.

The mysterious man stared at me, forcing me to look up and meet his fierce, wild gaze. Alien memories and sensations were crashing into me like waves after waves. The intense sadness and feeling of oblivion filled my entire body. Finally, he spoke. His voice was strangely human, and reminded me of someone I had met long ago.

"This is the meaning of my song, Shenalya"

Then, his eyes filled with glistening, avian, tears, he lifted his great wings, and with deliberate, strength-filled strokes, he rose, and disappeared into the misty twilight air. The water where he had stood had a strange glow, like an aurora over an arctic landscape.

My mind reeled, and I felt my body hit the stony, wet, forest floor. The memory formed an endless loop. But lying in the mud before my half-open eyes lay a single, white, feather.

The wind flew through the wheels of the bicycle, which made spinning, glowing shadows upon the twilit road. A gust pushed my short, blonde, hair onto my face and over my eyes. I did not care, because I could not see anyway; my eyes were filled to the brim with tears. Clutched tightly in my hand was dusty, splitting, feather. It was the pale grey of a beloved object that was once white.

The feather... the tears came faster, and the image of the face came into my mind again. I shook my head, and tried to clear myself of the memory, but it persisted, drawing my consciousness toward it and away from...

The bike swerved, and I was thrown violently onto the side of the road. There was a sharp pain my side, and I heard a sickening crunch near my ankle. I rolled, limp, down the side of the hill, until I hit the wall of the bridge.

My vision became blurry and unfocused, and there was a loud ringing in my ears.
I can't remember how long I lay there, unconscious and crumpled against the wall, before I awakened, in the car of a stranger. The man was tall, with chestnut brown hair and friendly smile. "Would you like me to take you home, or to a hospital?"

I asked to be taken home. I watched the scenery along the road pass by, in a daze. The green trees and the blue mountains swam together, creating an ocean under the black sky. After a long time, I realized something that sent a chill through her entire body. The feather was not in my hand. I felt a panic attack rising up, seizing me by the throat. The stranger looked over and asked: "Are you sure you're alright, miss?"

Something was sliding between my eyes. Staring at it cross-eyed for several minutes, the image began to focus. It was the feather. I began to relax and collapse back into the seat. The ridges on the feather were forming a pattern, getting more detailed by the second. The face...I cried out, and was plunged into the memory.

Fingers of sunlight touched the moss-covered stones, the ferns enclosing them protectively. Close to the center of the glade, made partially invisible by veils of ivy, was a waterfall, which tumbled into smooth spirals upon the stream below. The water in the pool reflected the dying moonlight like it would appear through the eyes of an insect.

Standing in the eye of the ripples was a man. His long hair was white and feathered, like his wings, which had no primary feathers and fell close to the ground as if it were bound. The flute he played was made of chestnut-coloured wood, with patterns on it matching the water rising and falling at his feet as he played.

I had to come closer, my feet moved of their own will. With neither softness nor stealth, twigs were ruthlessly severed, moss was uprooted, and pebbles rolled away into the dust. The music stopped. My senses came rushing, and my legs fell beneath me.

The mysterious man stared at me, forcing me to look up and meet his fierce, wild gaze. Alien memories and sensations were crashing into me like waves after waves. The intense sadness and feeling of oblivion filled my entire body. Finally, he spoke. His voice was strangely human, and reminded me of someone I had met long ago. "This is the meaning of my song, Shenalya"

Then, his avian eyes filled with glistening tears, he lifted his great wings, and with deliberate, strength-filled strokes, he rose, and disappeared into the misty twilight air. The water where he had stood had a strange glow, like an aurora over an arctic landscape.

My mind reeled, and I felt my body hit the stony, wet,forest floor. The memory formed an endless loop. But lying in the mud before my half-open eyes lay a single, white, feather.
My surroundings faded slowly into a grey nothingness, but the feather remained, planted between my eyes. The transition from the memory to reality was far harder and more painful than the fall from my bicycle.

"Miss, miss, please wake up! Is this where you live?" The stranger spoke in an anxious tone. He was very polite. My vision swam again, and I felt cold. I did not feel any pain though. I thanked the stranger and collapsed out of the car onto the sidewalk.

I was in the house. I froze for several minutes, as was the routine. The jumping back and forth through my memories was no longer terrifying, but it remained unsettling. Mum came running, dropping cooking utensils along her trajectory towards me. She dragged my limp body to the living room sofa, and then proceeded to shout at me in vain, for I was already falling into a daze again. I don't think she noticed that I was injured, and I didn't care. I would take care of that later.

With a sudden second wind, I ran upstairs to my room. The carpeted stairs were soothing against my torn bare feet. I hid the feather inside my pillow, as I always did, and sank into a puddle of exhaustion on my chair. My twisted ankle was now swollen and a deeper green than the fir tree outside, that I planted with Matty when I was four. Matthias...

I decided to put an ice pack on the ankle later...but for now I just wanted to sleep...perchance to dream...that play I was reading for school has confused my brain even more than it had been...

As I lay down on the bed, the face appeared again. I could see more of it now...it reminded me of something. It was maddening how it teased my thoughts and twisted them. I could not sleep. I decided to do something that had helped me clear my mind ever since I was little. I shut my eyes tightly, and lay face-down, my eyes pressed against the pillow.

The pictures appeared, like a kaleidoscope drawn upon my eyelid. I had tried writing stories about them once. Like dreams, they can only be seen, never written. The face faded and was transformed into thousands of tiny colours and images, like every other memory I had. I fell asleep...

I was flying, although it was slow and exhausting, like swimming through a fog. There was pearly glow tinged with red somewhere in the distance. Black snowflakes encircled me like a halo. I reached out, and after several tries, caught one. It was a feather. Inside the red clouds ahead of me, the white glow emanated. Just like the snowflakes, as soon as I entered it, I realized that they were all feathers.

Then there was the memory, it was spilling out of a tiny, cracked glass sphere, among countless others. The spheres were being spun in the hands of a young man with fiery red hair and snowy wings, which shed feathers into the clouds. He beckoned, and smiled gently. I longed to be with him, I belonged in his world. But countless fingers grabbed my arms and pulled me back, with determined strength. I was being taken far away from him. I screamed, and my eyes slid open rapidly.