Tiny Fiction: Ghost Feather
It fell from the sky, fluttering on the lightest breeze you could have and still call it a breeze.
“Look! It’s a feather!” someone called and everyone who heard stopped what they were doing and followed his pointing finger into the sky. No one had seen a feather in years, decades, really. But there is was, falling from the sky and just to prove a point, with one last breath of the breeze, it turned upright and planted itself into our desert sand. Necks were craned searching the sky, for where there is a feather, there must be a bird. We hadn’t seen a bird in decades either. But there was no bird, only this one feather. Maybe, it was ghost bird and this was a ghost feather.
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