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Here's my story, sorry for the delay.
A Beginning and an End
Another wave of water hit the rocks below. The slow, rhythmic crashing had an almost hypnotic affect. The waves would always be there. Crashing against the rocks like a single man attempting to take a fortress. The immensity of time always makes one feel insignificant. And so I sat there, feeling small and insignificant, which didn't take a lot. I was by far the runt of my village. My father, who sat beside me upon a outcropping of rock, seemed like a mountain in comparison
But that did not trouble me. The problem was my legs. When I was born, the Elders of the village had immediately pronounced me lame. I was told my mother cried to hold me. I had been placed in her arms, and there, with her child and husband beside her, my mother had died. The Elders never where able to tell exactly why she had died. The birth had come normally, and besides my useless legs, I was quite healthy. But whatever the reason, my mother left us for a better place and my father was left to care for me alone.
My father, I can say with pride, took care of me as best he could. However, without use of my legs I came to rely upon him to ferry me to certain places. Despite my constant needs, my father maintained a clean house and held a position on the village counsel. However, in time, my father was forced to spend more time away, leaving me stranded in our old cottage. He would leave at dawn and be gone the whole day, only to arrive after sunset. Given that he could not be home, the task of the upkeep of the house was left to me. I would prepare dinner and make sure the beds were made, all the while dragging myself across our stone floor. When my father came home, he would tell me of things from beyond the village.
You see, while my legs are weak, my mind is not. I thirsted for knowledge and adventure. I wanted to walk the great forests of Thistledown. I wished to travel above the clouds on one of the giant machines made by the Terr'ian Empire to the north. But my dreams remained just that, dreams. I could barely leave the house, nonetheless travel the world. So I contented myself with books. I learned to read at a very young age. A old member of the village counsel was paid to see me literate. I loved the kind old man, who smelled of musty tomes and parchment. His name was Darian. I remember his smiling old face perched on a old, wobbling neck. He was always kind and patient in his lectures and occasionly brought me sweetmeats when the Traders came through town. However, that happy period of my life had ended when the old man was found dead in his small house north of my village. He had been given a grand funeral, with a coffin and kind words. I remember myself crying, something I rarely do. His face looked calm and peaceful as they lowered him into the grave. Somehow that comforted me.
Two days later I sat upon the cliff, looking out across the Great Sea. My baggy clothes hung across my scrawny body in folds. I imagined myself a bird, flying out across the waters on graceful wings. I spread my arms and caught the wind coming in across the water. For just a second, I believed I was flying. Then the breeze abated and I was back down to earth. I sighed and looked at my father. His care worn face was weary with fatigue. His head hung with too many sorrows, too many pains. I placed my small hand in his and he grasped it firmly. He looked down at me and my baggy clothing. "What do you see out there Corwin?"
I looked into his deep blue eyes and snuggled closer to his arm. I turned my eyes back out to the ocean. Out upon the waters soared a pure white albatross. He piercing screech sounded out over the waves. " I see a bird. A great white bird with unfolded wings. It's soaring across the water effortlessly." I smiled and looked back to him. " He's crying a a cry of great joy. His eyes have finally been cleared and he can see the end of his journey. The end of his pain." My father's eyes grew joyous, then settled back into their usual melancholy look. He let out an explosive breath and looked out again. We sat there quietly until the sun began to sink below the horizon. My father finally stood and lifted me into his strong arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and snuggled my head beneath his chin.
" It is time to go home, little one. Otherwise our supper will be late." He carried me back through the sparse trees and into the village. Nobody was out at this late hour. We hurried over to our little cottage as the last orange light of the sun caught on the aspens the surrounded our house, turning their leaves gold. Then we were inside. My father set me gently on the bed and went over to a shelf mounted on the wall. He took down a slab of stale bread and some cheese. He took out the knife at his waist and cut it into little slabs. Two for me and one for him. We ate in silence and afterward swiftly went to bed, myself upon the one bed and him upon the floor beside the fire.
My mind wonders as I settle into sleep. I dream of being somebody who matters, someone important, not a lame, poor boy. Someday I will make something of myself, but for today, I am just me. And that's all that really matters.
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One door has closed, but another has opened, and beyond... our future...
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