Instinct more than anything has her pluck the tiny feather from the dry weeds. When she holds very still and turns just so, she sees a small white feather. She doesn't find anything, especially not the food she had set out to find, but as she turns to leave, the shine catches her eye again. The four big boxes have always been empty or at least empty of the garden it was meant to be. She's still young and curious enough to detour and look for it, whatever it was. She passes the empty and neglected park when she catches a hint of shine from the corner of her eye. Her desperate bid for freedom would be a beautiful, inspiring thing where anyone around to see it, but even now, death is rushing at her it's only a matter of which reaches her first. A sense of freedom, another strange thing, fills her chest, and she dares to smile. For the first time, she leaves the dark place, leaves the ones that hurt, goes out into the night to a different dark that's open and scary. Maybe it's the concussion or something deeper, but this time when she's left alone, she decides. In their screams, she feels a never-ending echo, their voices are many, and the hands that hurt are infinite. The bruises stand as markers for the harsh words screamed at her. She’s strong enough, despite the unknown, to think that she wouldn't return. She is frightened and elated all at the same time. Strength to endure she understands deep in her bones but strength to fight is new.
She finds a strength she never tapped into before, at least not in this capacity. It's a struggle to pull her small body off the floor, but she manages. All she knows is that it hurts she always hurts, but this is different, and some small instinct is telling her this is not good. She’s dying, not that she understands that. The night lengthens, the world stills, and a breath is held in anticipation. Up and down, directionless it floated, the breeze took it on a journey, and every cross breeze and variable adjusted its path in small increments until it finally settled, without fanfare, in a dead garden. Away from the resentment and agony bleeding into the atmosphere. It drifted unnoticed the ocean breeze swept it away from its celestial origin and its infernal counterpart. It came unmoored from the whole, anticlimactic considering the whole was separated itself. One wayward feather, not even a whole feather, more of a small semiplume, drifted loose.
#INVESTIGATE ANOMALY CATTY CORNER SERIES#
Part 1 of the Prices We Pay series Next Work → Stats: Published: Completed: Words: 208536 Chapters: 36/36 Comments: 120 Kudos: 99 Bookmarks: 22 Hits: 4724
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