“Richard Cater was seven years old when he ran as fast as he could down the parched grassy hill on his uncle’s farm, trying to set the record for human flight. The decorated cardboard wings he’d cut from a discarded Frigidaire box in the barn proved insufficient, and when the force of gravity overtook his small legs’ ability to keep up, he tumbled rudely, leaving a scar shaped like the letter “S” that half-circumnavigated his left kneecap. In later years, when he was tense, he would absentmindedly run his finger over the scar, tracing its curve like a symbol on a cryptic map whose meaning he could not yet decipher.” –The Secret of the Birds
Hey, all – I’d meant to post this in early September, but just discovered that, for some reason, I’d never hit the “publish” button. So here it is now, a month late.
I feel a need to warn you that the story is one of my darker ones. So if you you’re in the mood for something cheerful, I’m going to recommend that you hold off on delving into it right now.
If you do like the story, I want to remind you that when you get to the bottom, Medium has a little “clapping hands” icon. Hitting that is Medium’s equivalent of a “like” button, and more claps means they’ll forward it to more of their readers. So…
Please enjoy The Secret of the Birds