By Christina Butcher
I am no one if I’m not King of the Birds. But ever since the colors seeped from my feathers long ago, I’ve known that I am no true king after all.
The night it happened, I watched my crown blanch and my maize-colored wings fade into chalky greys. Pigment dripped onto the branches beneath me.
In panic, I gathered my flock and we hurled ourselves into the fog. But the birds couldn’t follow my colorless form. I melded into the mist, losing my beginning and end. I was only a voice, separated from flock and hue. I became no one.
I loved it. Beautiful visuals and use of words.
I love this! These were some wonderful visuals you got onto the page. Well done.
Thank you so much, I’m glad you guys enjoyed it!
A truly symbolic “Riches to rags” story. A vivid telling of an individual’s spiral down into a self-made oblivion. Great work.
thank you for your support, this was one of my favorite stories to write last year. there’s something really cool about writing such a short story, i’m glad this website has tapped into it.