My latest short story!

“The Finch”

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.
Source: The Poems of Emily Dickinson

My bare feet dart through the coarse sand that weaves a path through the tall blades of grass. The plants’ tips brush against me, prickling my skin, and my eyes follow my feet carefully as I navigate through the path. The air is dry and the heat of summer makes the sand beneath my feet uncomfortably hot. Soon the vegetation starts to thin and I hear the rush of the ocean waves crashing against rocks. I lift my eyes slowly from my tender feet to the blindingly bright sight before me. Beyond the rocky ledge on which I have come upon, are calm dark blue waves that ripple into the horizon. Thousands of mirror-like reflections shimmer off the waves, so much so that the water no longer appears blue, but white.

I take small steps toward the edge then come to a halt as the tips of my toes no longer feel the gravelly sand beneath them. I stand there still for a moment with widened eyes and my mouth slightly agape. I am mesmerized by this strange sea as I perch precariously on the edge of the cliff. Off to the distance, a faint melody plays. Its tune is soft and sweet and its movements coincide with the sounds of the tide as each wave hits the rocks. Slowly, I lurch forward then backward, my weight rocking me onto the balls of my feet then my heels. I pry my eyes away from the ocean and take a step backwards. I lower myself onto one of the flattened rocks that border the cliff and allow myself to gaze at the ocean once again with the wordless melody replaying in my head. The sun beats down on my back placing kisses on my skin, and I immerse myself in the view. I feel the beauty, the serenity, deep inside my chest. This comforting feeling isn’t foreign; it feels as if I am remembering a childhood memory that draws upon sweet happiness. I can almost taste it...no, it is simply the salty sweet air of the ocean that I register on my tongue.

Moments—perhaps even hours later, for time escapes me—a slight rustling sound draws my attention from the waves. A small finch is nestled on one of the tough branches of a bush. The bird is a soft brown, a muted color which evokes a sense of comfort in me. Its plumage is ruffled a little with tiny feathers sticking out in random places. I have this curious sensation to run my fingers along its back and feel the minute bumps of the misplaced feathers. The finch hops closer to me with its head cocked to the side, and my need to caress the bird grows stronger. I drop my eyes to my hand which is clenched in a tight fist. Suddenly I realize the slice of bread in my hand, and sadly come to the conclusion that this is what must have drawn the bird to me. I uncurl my fist slowly, the lumped remnant of my meal no longer hidden from view. Silence… stillness… my open palm is now inches away from the tiny finch. The bird’s head turns quickly to face my direction. Its dewy black eyes stare into my soul, and in an overwhelming rush, I understand.

Roaring waves furiously crash against the rocky edge of a cliff. Rain pours in torrents creating a constant drumming against the ground. The sounds are so loud they seep into my brain and every other noise is blotted out completely. The raging sea storm dominates my senses until there is nothing left but the tempest surrounding me. My hands grip tightly onto the rock underneath me, the rough edges biting into my skin. Blood trickles down my palms but is quickly washed away by the downpour. The rain pounds relentlessly against my skin until it leaves it raw and wounded like the jagged cuts on my palm. I blankly stare down at the violent sea below me and its deafening crashes against the rocks. The violence permeates me. As each collision smashes against the rocks, my heart is hit by those same waves. It’s such a peculiar sensation, almost as if I am the rocks that are fated to be relentlessly destroyed.

What a chilling emotion, despair is. It’s freezing fingertips brush against my heart, my soul. Suddenly, I am chilled to the bone. The rain has seeped into my skin; no longer is it wounded flesh, but an icy cage for the misery that has enveloped me. I am hopeless. I am empty. I am nothing. I struggle to stand on the slippery rock; my limbs are trembling and I feel the remnants of my energy ebbing away. A single step can erase this suffering. But do I have the strength to move my feet? A silent war starts to brew between my body and my mind. From the outside I appear to be stone, still and deathlike. Inside, cacophonous thoughts twist and pull my mind and body into infinite directions. Amid this turmoil, I feel my hands becoming heavier, my head droops, my chest lurches forward…

Sweet, harmonious chords fill my ears. A fluttering sensation inside me causes me to snap my head up in a renewed vigor. A song starts to unfold from inside my mind and its uplifting tune spreads warmth throughout my body. My limbs are no longer heavy, and strangely, I cannot hear the booming crashes of the sea anymore. I step backwards off the rock onto stable ground and tilt my head up to face the sky. Rain drops splatter across my face and trickle into my eyes, blurring my vision. I am about to close my eyes from the discomfort when a small dark shape in the sky appears. It is zigzagging through the rain; its flight is a struggle. I can almost make out two tiny wings...the rain becomes too much to bear and I drop my head, hastily rubbing my eyes.

There is a tickling sensation inside me again, similar to the fluttering I felt moments ago. The melody inside my head grows louder and I decide to take quick strides away from the edge of the cliff. I make my way through a muddy path in the sand dunes. A few moments pass and a warm light glows off in the distance. I find myself approaching the entrance of a small dwelling made of stone. A light shines in the window and I rush into the little house in a frenzy. Enveloped by the warmth of the fireplace, the source of the light, I take a deep breath and close my eyes... The rain has stopped. The cold has gone. I am safe.
I blink a few times and shake my head to fight off the disoriented feeling that has come over me. Sunlight...warmth...quiet...my eyes come back into focus and I register a cheerful chirp alarmingly close to me. The finch has perched on my shoulder; its body is so light I had not noticed the little animal standing on me. I turn my head cautiously in its direction since I am afraid I will scare it away. The bird is not fazed by the movement and a beaming grin erupts from my face. I grasp the crushed ball of bread in my hand and pull my arm back behind my head. I release my arm forward and throw the ball into the swelling waves of the sea. It is quickly lost in the white foam. I stand up quickly from the rock I had been sitting on and stretch my arms, reaching towards the sky. Throughout all of this, the finch has remained on my shoulder. It nuzzles its tiny head against my neck and a peal of laughter bubbles from my lips. The bird sings along to my laughter and its bright tune evokes a strong warmth deep in my chest.

Now I understand that this bird, this feathered beacon of hope, has always been with me. It has been by my side in the deepest extremity and the strangest sea. It perched on my soul even when I was chilled to the bone, standing on the edge of the ocean cliff. There was a moment when I had thought that all was lost, that no part of me remained, but this small bird pulled me back from my fall. It saved me from the deathlike grip of despair simply by fluttering its wings. Its lilting tune, a wordless melody that I seem to know by heart, never stopped playing for me. I just chose not to listen to it; I blocked it out in my deepest adversity.

Despite everything this little being has done for me, it has never asked for anything in return. Even when offered the homemade bread my mother had just baked, the finch refused. Its selflessness is astounding. It makes me wonder if the harsh violence I have seen in humanity is redeemable. The finch has compelled me to move on from the cruelty of humanity that drove me to the ocean’s cliff. Even more interesting, this finch is a reflection of me, with its ruffled feathers, dark eyes and quiet shyness. The bird seems to look at the world through my eyes and see everything that I have seen. The finch is my hope; it re-installs my faith with humanity and myself. With it perched on my shoulder—no, my soul—I turn away from the overwhelming sea and start my journey back home.