The Forgiveness of a Feather with an Eye

She missed. She was still in a panic, but after throwing her bookbag and missing, she didn’t have anything else to throw. She slowly felt her way along the wall to her back, trying to navigate to her bedroom door as the thing watched her. But that’s all it did. It just watched her. It was a feather-like quill, but above the center of its rachis sat a singular eye, and it just stared on at her.  

“Kiera!” her father pounded on her door. “What was that noise?” he slurred.

“Nothing,” she cowered, “I just slammed my door. I’m sorry,” she quickly shoved herself against the door, wedging it shut. She was glad she did because her father soon began trying to shove it open. “I’m sorry, dad! I won’t do it again!” she pleaded, and after failing to shove the door open a few more times, her father stopped. There was a moment of silence before he aggressively assaulted the door with his fist and then stormed away. Kiera let out a sigh of relief as she trembled to the floor, looking back into her room and flinching at the sight of the feather watching her.  

The two stared at one another for a while and Kiera remained paralyzed on the ground at the foot of her door. She began to doze off, but before she closed her eyes completely, she caught a glimpse of movement from the feather. She groggily jerked her head and shoved herself back up against the door as she went stiff, watching it more intently than before as her breathing grew heavy.

She grew more defensive as she watched the feather move again, swaying downwards as well as looking downwards. Kiera swallowed as it looked back up at her, and then repeated its gesture. Her shoulders began to release their stress as the feather continued to gesture downwards with its body and eye over and over again. She swallowed as she slowly stood up, and it reacted by somewhat nodding, and then continuing its downward gesture.

Slowly, Kiera crept towards the feather, and as she got into arm’s reach of it, she torqued herself, ready to jump away at a moment’s notice. She watched as the feather gestured downwards again, and she glanced over to see a notebook that had fallen out of her bookbag laying on the edge of her desk. She slowly and hesitantly reached for it, constantly glancing back at the feather for any sudden movements; and when she grabbed hold of it, she quickly brought it to her chest and took a step back from the feather.

It stared at her for a second, then looked over at some pencils on her desk, and then back to her. When Kiera didn’t react, it repeated its gesture, and it continued to repeat it until Kiera finally glanced over at the pencils. “W-what do you want from me?” she finally uttered. The feather only repeated its gesture. “Do, do you want me to use these?” she stuttered, and the feather nodded.  

Kiera slowly reached for the pencils and then slowly returned to her arm’s reach. “Okay, what, what now?” she questioned. The feather broke its eye contact and looked past her in thought. Finally, it looked back up at her, and it slowly bowed and began shaking itself. “I-I don’t know what that means,” Kiera confessed as she took a step forward. “Do-do you want the notebook?” she asked and the feather shook its head. “D-do you want the pencils?” she shook them out in front of her, and yet again, the feather shook its head.

Kiera shook her head and looked down at the notebook and pencils in her hands. “Do you want me to write something?” she asked and the pen began excitedly nodding. Kiera looked at the materials in her hands once more before hesitantly approaching her desk. She slowly pulled out her chair and cautiously sat down as she looked at the feather once more. “W-what do you want me to write?” she shrugged and the feather once again looked away as it thought. Finally, it looked back at her and turned itself ninety degrees in the cup it was in, then leaned over in her direction. Kiera raised her brow and slightly shook her head, “I don’t know what you’re trying to say,” she surrendered, but the feather continued its gesture. “Uh, stretching? Dancing?” she listed and the feather shook its head before resuming its gesture. “It would be easier if you could talk,” Kiera muttered and the pen began slightly bobbing up and down in its cup, rattling around. “Hey, stop that! My dad’s gonna hear you,” she demanded in a whisper, but the feather didn’t listen.

“I said stop it!” Kiera instinctively grabbed at the feather to stop its racket, and when she realized she had picked it up, she gasped and dropped it instantly, flinching back as she quickly pushed herself away.

The feather landed on its back and as it stared up at the ceiling, it rolled its eye. Kiera slowly reapproached the feather as it layed motionless on the table, “I-I’m sorry,” she uttered and the feather began mustering all of its strength to try and turn to face her. Kiera grew stiff as she fought herself from fleeing, “W-what are you?” she lowered her head closer and the feather stopped moving. It looked at her in the eyes before looking away at the notebook across the desk. “C-can you write?” Kiera asked and the feather swayed its head back and forth. “Sorta?” she asked and the feather nodded. “Do you need, uh, help to do so?” she asked and the feather began cheerfully nodding.

Kiera swallowed as she slowly reached out her hand, hesitating before finally picking the feather up in her hands. She turned it towards her, and it looked down and around at her hand. It cheerfully closed its eye and swayed its head back as it silently cheered, and once it finished its small victory dance, it opened its eye, spun in Kiera’s hand, and directed its attention back to the notebook, glancing back at Kiera every couple of seconds to get its point across.

“Okay,” Kiera trailed off as she reached for the notebook and opened it to a blank page. She lowered her hand, and gently set the tip of the feather onto the page, “Now what?” she asked as she spun the feather to face her. It looked down, and when Kiera followed its gaze, she noticed that ink had poured from its stem onto the page. “Wha…?” she trailed off as she raised her hand and inspected the bottom of the feather. “How did you do that?” she asked, and when the pen looked back at the page, she nodded, “Oh, right. Right. You can’t talk, but you can sorta write.”

The feather nodded, and as Kiera set the feather down on the page, it spun itself around and pointed itself toward Kiera. When she didn’t react, it repeated its gesture. “Down?” she asked and it nodded as it once again repeated its gesture. Kiera shrugged and gently brought her stroke down, leaving a trail of ink behind. Once she finished, she looked at the feather and it spun in a circle. Kiera lifted the feather from the page, “Um?” she trailed off and set it back down on the page, and it nodded as it gestured toward her again, signaling for her to stroke downward. She followed, and as she raised her hand from the desk, the feather began shaking its head. “What? Don’t pick you up?” she sassed. The feather nodded. She placed the feather back down on the page, and the feather shook its head. “What now?” she whined and the feather slightly shifted in her hands and tilted its tip until it touched the bottom of the old stroke. “Oh, you’re not done with the letter,” she noticed as the feather nodded before tilting itself to the right. Kiera understood and she stroked to the right, finishing the letter. The feather spun at the end of her stroke, and Kiera lifted it off the page and it cheerfully swayed before looking back down at the page. Kiera nodded with a smirk, “Okay, I think I’m starting to understand,” she remarked as she brought the feather back to the page and began watching for where the feather led her strokes. She continued writing, learning to lift the feather from the page when it took a spin in her hand and learning to retrace her strokes in a sort of shrewd cursive when the feather gestured so. On the final letter, the feather spun around at its completion, then shook in cheer.

Kiera glanced down at the page, “‘I listen to help’?” she read as she looked at the feather, and it nodded. “Help with what?” she raised her brow, and the feather looked back to the page, gesturing to write again.  

The two slowly worked through the message, and Kiera tilted her head at the final response, “‘Write’?” she read the message. “‘I listen to help write’?” she read them together, and the feather shook its head. “Uh, ‘I listen to help’, and to do that, you want me to, ‘write’?” she asked, and the feather nodded. “About what?” she asked, and the feather gently rocked its head back and widened its eye, mimicking a shrug.

Kiera glanced down at the page, and after a while, she began to write. She started with the day’s weather, then she transitioned into how her day went. Then she began to write about her classes, then about her classmates, then into how she wasn’t friends with her classmates. Then she began to write about her home; and as she continued writing, she began to pour her soul out onto the page, and as she continued, tears began to trail down her face and the pain in her soul began to bleed out.

When she finished, she looked in her hands at the feather, and it too was crying. “You understand what I wrote?” she sniffled, and it nodded. Kiera wiped her nose and the tears away from her eyes, remaining silent for a while.

“Thank you,” she finally muttered. “It helped,” she confessed, and the feather nodded.

Over the next few weeks, the two wrote together every day, and as Kiera wrote, she found herself more and more joyful. And as she grew more and more joyful, her days at school became days with friends; and as her days with friends increased, her life at home grew slightly more peaceful, and slightly more tolerable.

But alas, one day, Kiera received just too much.

When she finally made it back to her room from her day, all she could do was cry as she slumped into her bed, her sobs being drowned out by the wind and rain crashing against her window. Her feathery friend rattled in its cup, but she ignored it; but as it continued rattling, she smeared her face through her pillow and leered at the feather with her building fury. “STOP!” she cried, “Please…” she sobbed as she buried her head back into her pillow. Her feathery friend obliged at her request and instead silently gazed on at her.

As the storm picked up, and the skies became black, Kiera’s fury finally boiled over. She was sick of crying. She pushed herself up, headed for her desk, and wiped away the tears and snot from her face before reaching for the feather. It gazed up at her, and it winced at her grip, but it didn’t shake in protest. Kiera aggressively brought it to the page and began writing, and she began with the horrible morning of stress and the bruises she received that morning. She pressed a little harder, and the feather squirmed. She then wrote about her day and wrote about her anger towards her friends who whispered behind her back, and she wrote how she hid her face in embarrassment from their mockery. She pressed harder and the feather lost the ability to move in her grip. She continued angrily stroking across the page as she wrote about how she felt betrayed by her teachers calling her father over her behavior. She pressed harder, but she ignored the feather’s shaking and violent movements. Finally, she snapped as she began writing about her return home, about her father’s “lessons”, and she finally poured all of her rage into her grip and pressed too hard.

Her feathery friend snapped into two.

Her eyes widened at the sight and her anger immediately turned towards herself. “No no no,” she began, “No, please no. Please no,” she cried. She picked up her friend who layed motionless, “Please no,” she cried as she buried her head into the desk. “What have I done?” she breathed as her sob grew as aggressive as the storm and her cry became louder than the thunder. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated and repeated as she tried to lightly put her friend back together, failing every single time.

She grew desperate, and as she wiped the snot from her face again, she stared at her sleeves. She didn’t waste a second as she began tearing away at her sleeve, her anger and grief giving her strength.  

After getting the cloth she needed, she held her breath as she took her feathery friend and lined up the two pieces of its rachis before wrapping the long cloth multiple times around the two pieces. She wrapped and wrapped and pulled it as tightly as possible before tying it as tight as she could get it. She went back for her sleeve, tearing another strip of cloth away and repeating her desperate bandaging endeavor. When she finished, she finally took a breath and glanced down at the motionless feather, now crudely wrapped in torn cloth. 

She waited, but after a while of staring at the motionless feather, her eyes began watering, and her mouth strained open as she silently cried out, dropping her head atop her friend as she wept. “I’m sorry. Why did I… I’m so sorry” she repeated over and over again, taking her feathery friend into her hands as she continued sobbing until she fell asleep.

As the sun crept through her window the next day and hit her crusty face, she began opening her eyes; and as her fatigue faded, her memory snapped to the night before and her head jerked to her friend, who was now missing from her hand. Her head shot up and her gaze scoured the table, pausing when she saw her feathery friend sitting in its cup, wrapped in the bandages, asleep. She sighed as hope rose in her chest, and as she reached for her friend, her hand grazed the top of her open notebook.

When she looked down, her eyes began watering. “I forgive you” was written under her hands, and she began sobbing with joy. She gently grabbed her friend and it woke up, “I’m so sorry,” she cried and it slowly looked down at the notebook, gesturing towards it with its gaze. Keira nodded, “I know, I saw,” she cheerfully sobbed. She grew concerned when she noticed the bandages beginning to fall away and she reached to rewrap them; but as she did, she noticed that her friend was now whole once again. She began unraveling her friend, and when she finished, she gently stroked her finger across the scar that now harbored where her friend was once split into two. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, and the feather once again gestured to the notebook on her desk. “Thank you,” she breathed as she hugged her friend.  

She pulled away and looked down at the message in her notebook and decided to reply. She slowly brought her friend down to the page, holding her breath as she began writing and sighing in relief as ink slowly trailed behind her friend’s stroke.  

She continued writing, responding to its message as she wrote “Thank you” underneath her friend’s message. The feather nodded at her script, and Keira turned the page in her notebook before beginning to write with her friend. When she finished her message, she set her friend in its cup and smiled as she headed out of her room, beginning to prepare for her day.

Her friend glanced down at her passage and cheerfully swayed back and forth as it read through it over and over again. She wrote:

Even after all of the things I had done, and even after all the things I had to say were laid bare to my dear feathery friend, it still never spoke. Not one word was uttered, and not one thought was given, but it listened intently, and its gestures and silence spoke more profoundly to me than anything I could have received. In the end, it did finally receive the power to speak, but rather through its own words (or its own mind), it received the power of speech by writing not just for me, but for itself. It was able to receive and record my story, my thoughts, my feelings, my soul; and as it received these things, I received the gifts of understanding and peace. The scar across its rachis will remind me daily of what I am capable of, what damage I can cause, what anger can do, and what danger I could harbor. Its scar will remind me to be different, to be better than who I was last night, to not be like my father; but most of all, it will be a reminder to me that I am capable of healing and change, and that forgiveness out of love was one of the greatest strengths I have – as it so lovingly demonstrated and gave me. And so I shall too forgive.