17 2014

away from Father.The oak trees began to murmur to him again. The sycamores whispered to their neighbours.The light was now dim and fading.The sky was overcast. Dusk gradually crept over the boy and his chess piece, and the yellow lights of the fair began to shimmer through a layer of fresh mist which now lingered in the damp air. The boy halted, for his path was obstructed. An ashen, peppery body of plumage lay inert and motionless on the earth before him. It was a wood pigeon; Father had once taught him to recognise birds, a long time ago, but he did not believe Father anymore.The oak trees hushed in unison.The boy stood still. He did not understand. He wanted to drown and immerse himself in the bird’s pure, unstained beauty, but he knew it was too late. His vision became blurred, distorted. Darkness began to descend upon the decaying landscape. He felt lost.The boy’s mind began to flood with an unforgiving blackness, and a cold emptiness filled within him. He clutched desperately for his ebony chess piece, but it was gone. Forever.

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