– Feather’s Fall –
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.
Please explore the Feather’s Fall Feature page to begin this journey of doubt, faith, struggle and hope.
Story Arc (2. Miriam)
Rachael had left to run some errands in the Polis. Though they had removed themselves to the crystalline desert there were still connexions, obligations and responsibilities that required … intention. Miriam could not bring herself to return – it had been several revolutions since they had left and still the thought of returning for required practicalities was draining. Rachael simply smiled without recrimination.
“Is … is it okay?” Miriam asked tentatively. She knew that their bond ran deeper than neuro-transmitters that formed relational fealty, but still, she doubted. The scars of the Before Now still haunted her. The reality was that no matter how affirming or tender Rachael was with her, Miriam defaulted to the scars of hurt and rejection. Self-fulfilling prophecy is a powerful habit and it would take many more revolutions before she could let it go completely …
“Dear One,” Rachael began, “of course. I know it’s an effort for you – you know to be around so many people. Plus, this way, I get to meet with the co-op and talk about my next show. And – who knows – maybe I’ll find a surprise for you,” she replied with sincere tenderness. Miriam knew in her mind’s eye that there was not an ounce of taint in Rachael. Her Mentor would have said that Rachael was purified metal – source true! But – sometimes – the past paints the canvas and it was hard to see differently.
“Th … thanks,” Miriam stammered with effort. With a breath drawn, expecting the past to enter the Now, it was immediately dispelled as Rachael leaned over and brushed her lips to Miriam’s: they were okay.
Silently Floating Downward
As Miriam replayed the day old memory, she initially did not hear the transponder quietly requesting her attention. The lyrical tone finally interrupted her fugue and she left the veranda as the singing desert shared a melody announcing the evening’s arrival. As the doors slid open in their audibly silent whisper, the transponder cascaded with pastel-lighted sound. As Miriam lifted her arm to activate the visual connexion, she anticipated that Rachael might be on the other end – perhaps announcing a surprise early return – as her arm activated the sensor, however, she knew that would not be the case …
Though there was no visual, the Cynosure’s logo swirled. Miriam’s breath halted, her shoulders tightened, and she knew her hoped for retirement, retreat, even reprieve was … over.
“Creator Balbus?” a monotone voice inquired.
“Here,” Miriam replied by rote.
“Creator Balbus, please hold for Mentor Pilate. Initiating visual feed in 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …”
My Dear One,
We knew – or perhaps we simply dreamed – that the desert’s crystals would allow us to more fully explore the Whisper with one another. I know it is all for which I have ever longed, even before I could articulate it. I so cherish the art you create upon the canvas membranes to which you impart life and potential. I hope – that when you begin this letter – you will hear me deeply beyond the inadequacy of the text.
While you were gone Cynosure and Mentor Pilate have recalled me with an Executive Order. Seems that there has been … Mirkle activity that requires … my attention. I know we talked – once – about how no one is irreplaceable, but Mentor seems to think that, well, they need me and he has done what he is allowed to do.
I will try to contact you once I arrive at Cynosure, but I am not sure how long I will be there, as there are indications I may be required elsewhere. So, until then, listen to the Whisper Rachael, for it is there that my touch remains ever yours.
Upon an empty table recently sealed in a hermeneutic murmur, as the suns’ set in cascading colours slowly drawing nigh, a feather floats silently downward. Landing upon a letter of parchment, it clings to the dappling vestige of a tear let loose in loss …