Twisted Fate
By Veronica Therrien
Twisted Fate
Life seemingly finds my reactions entertaining. It enjoys sitting there, watching my face grow in anger and my body crawling on my hands and knees, while hurling unexpecting surprises on my path.
The only day I’m free from work, a day of possible jubilance, I end up getting lost, in the woods. The forest has always been my escape from the modern world, but apparently, life wants to twist my paradise into a nightmare. The trees softly blow in the gentle wind.
I check the weather app on my phone.
Seventy-seven degrees, partly sunny.
I peek up. The sky thickens in gray shades. Not even a minute passes and raindrops plunder all around me, growing intensively, weighing down my surroundings in a thick, light gray blur.
Gee, what else can go wrong?
I try to wipe the droplets off my screen to find the nearest road, but the smearing only makes it worse.
“What the hell did I do to deserve all this crap?”
I shove my phone in my pocket, hoping to save some battery life and continue forward. The ground begins to descend, so I keep myself close to the trees, my hand reaching for their trunks and branches for security.
“This stupid rain better not last long.”
My sneakers warily crawl down the slope.
“Hopefully this decline will lead to a road.”
My feet move farther down.
“Halfway there…”
Think again, kid.
The slippery ground grabs my foot. Gravity takes a hold of my body down the hill, giving me the feeling as if I’m falling into hell.
Through my spinning vision, an odd image appears ahead. There’s an open edge, with space floating before it.
The closer I get, my brain clicks.
Before gravity can do its final shove, I hastily reach out my hand and grab onto a twig dangling to the side. It pulls back gravity’s push, leaving me to hang above the tips of a hundred trees.
Though my body stays still, I can feel my heart pulsating a million miles an hour. I take my other hand and grab onto the twig. The rain loosens the grip on my fingers, but I clench them tighter. I pull my arms upward, but they give out before I can even grab the side of the cliff.
“Why?” I whimper. I try to pull myself up again but fail. “Why does fate hate me?” I use my feet to climb up the cliff, but even that is becoming too slippery for support. The rain slowly weakens my grip on the twig.
I feel the difference between my tears and the rain running down my face. The more I pull up the rain continues to break me loose slowly from any way to save myself.
I stare up at the twig.
I should at least die trying.
Pulling myself up once more, the rain releases my hand away from the twig. Gravity happily tugs me downward, but a sharp pain halts her grip.
I scream and immediately look up.
An orange and white face peers down at me, its yellow eyes holding the same grasp as tight as its mouth on my hand.
I can’t tell if my heart stopped or is still beating.
The animal’s head rises, forcing me upward, by what feels like all of its strength. With my other arm reaching the edge, I grab hold of the wet grass and desperately fight against gravity’s urgent tug. The animal continues to pull my hand forward. The fear of falling numbs away the pain of its teeth bearing into my skin.
Once my feet climb back onto the ground, it releases my hand and I collapse. I take in the comfort of wet, solid ground underneath me, clinging to any strain of grass I touch.
Something wet and cold nudges my hand. I open my eyes.
A fox stares at me with the same, piercing yellow irises.
I hesitantly pull my hand away and cower inward to myself, hoping I didn’t get saved by it just to be its lunch.
It steps forward and gently presses its nose against the hand it latched onto. It lays next to me and licks away the blood protruding from its bite.
I watch it aghast. It’s not tearing my face open. It’s not dragging me to its den.
It’s…caring for me.
Why? What did I do to deserve this?
After the wound is cleaned, the fox stands up and ascends the hill. Before entering the trees, it looks back at me and seems…to wait for me.
I cautiously stand on my feet and walk towards it. It turns its head and immediately enters the forest with an eager walk.
Its bright, orange fur make it easy to follow in this brown and green world. Whenever I had to stop to take a breather, it never continued without me. It patiently watched me, waiting to continue.
I followed it through paths I never seen before. What feels like a half hour, a light clearing appears ahead. The rain slows down to a tender drizzle and thin, delicate rays of golden, ambient sunlight sneak through pecks of the forest.
The clearing leads to an open road. I continue walking but realize the fox doesn’t. I look back at it.
It stares at me. Looking back into its eyes, it seems to illume in sync with the bursting sunlight. It turns away and wanders back into the woods.
I watch it until I can no longer see its orange coat among the green leaves. Streaks of light leisurely bombard through the trees and onto the ground.
Something arises inside me that I haven’t felt in months. Not a dark feeling. Nothing heavy or overbearing.
But something…real, pure.
And hopeful.
Part One
East of Copper
His paws press gently into the snow. Their prints proudly declare his ruling over everything that covers the land up to the horizon. The cold sensation of the white blanket sends a pleasure up his fur. He climbs on top of a boulder and gazes out before him. The sun has been rising for the past hour now, filtering the sky in a clear, shade of light blue. The sunlight bathes onto the pure paradise, reaching from the tops of the trees to every pine needle that rests on each branch, sending the millions of snowflakes to sparkle and dance in specks of the rainbow. He pulls in a breath of fresh, winter air.
It is all how it should be, he thought to himself.
Through the soft breeze of the growing morning, a Ruby-Throated hummingbird soars in the air. It spots the warm, red-orange coat of its ruler and friend. It soars downward to greet him.
“As much as I love serving you, sir, can’t I just switch positions with one of the other birds on the other side of the country? Or better yet, maybe farther south, perhaps Florida or even Georgia? I don’t know how much longer I can handle these ridiculous freezing temperatures.”
The fox chuckles. “You know you can never escape your calling, Avery.”
“Well I sure wish I was born as a Rufous or a Black-Chinned. The Black-Chins especially, oh, they get to deal with perfect weather all year round.”
“You’re not the only messenger who has to fight through the climate, Avery. The Rufouses deal with a double-edged sword, with tornadoes in the summer and deadly blizzards in the winter. Black-Chins must fly through the constant rain early in the year, along with scorching temperatures later on. Would you prefer this seasonal cold, or daily tornadoes and heat?”
Avery sighs. “I’m sorry, Copper. I should be grateful for my position. I complain too much.”
Copper looks at Avery sincerely. “You need to stop comparing yourself to others. Why would you even do that when you’re the only messenger, among the rest of the Ruby-Throated hummingbirds, who can speak directly to me?”
Avery looks in the distance with regret. “I tend to sometimes think that the lives of others are better than mine.”
“And that itself not only steals your confidence, but your time here on Earth. Hummingbirds don’t live long, dear friend. This is only your first year of service.”
“But you’ll probably have better messengers in your lifetime than the amount I was able to serve for you.”
Copper turns and faces Avery. “Avery,” he says boldly. “Look at me.”
Avery uses his constant, flapping wings to turn and face him.
“I have led this land as long as you have been my messenger. Have I ever failed you as your leader?”
“No…”
“Have you ever heard me compare myself to Tilia or Berani?”
“No, sir,” Avery says, his voice filling with guilt.
“Then I know that I haven’t failed my purpose for you, for our land, and everyone living in it. And neither have you.”
Avery looks back at Copper and a smile grows on his face. “Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Copper grins back. “Though you are my vert first messenger, I can’t think of any other Ruby-Throated hummingbirds who can serve me better with as much loyalty and generosity as you do.”
Avery tries to use his wing to wipe his face. “Sir, you’re going to make me cry.”
Copper lets out a laugh. “Isn’t that what friends are supposed to do?”
“To make them cry? Maybe in a touching way, but not negatively.”
“Then I have also succeeded my role as your friend. I made you cry from joy, not pain.”
Avery shakes his head happily and looks back out at the brightening, white canvas of their home. “Thank you, Copper. But I came here for another reason.”
“What is it?”
“That boy you saved this previous summer. He hasn’t stopped coming to the woods.” He looks down at Copper. “Why did you save him, when you know all humans are evil?”
Copper’s yellow eyes illuminate with morning sunlight. “He carried a different emotion than the rest of the humans I saw. He felt…lost and alone. He was stuck in a tunnel of darkness, but this darkness was choking him, rather than controlling him.
“When he fell and hung on the side of the cliff, I never saw someone’s eyes plead for life as he did. Before he fell, I felt he was losing his grip on his life emotionally, but that grip bolstered when he almost lost it permanently.
“Though he was weak from life shoving him consistently, he still had a reason to fight for his own. That’s when my instincts shot forward and I got a hold of his hand before he would’ve been gone.”
Avery looks at Copper astonishingly. “And this is why I’m thankful to have you as our leader,” he says unwaveringly.
Copper’s smile warms up similar to the awakening daylight.
“So, we should let him be?” Avery asks for confirmation.
“Yes,” Copper replies. “There was no trace of evil inside his soul. Only allow him to enter the lands. If you find him in danger, report it to me, and both I and the others will take care of it.”
“Yes, sir,” Avery obeys. He takes a breath of fresh, crisp air. “It’s almost the heart of winter.”
“It is,” Copper agrees, his warm breath transforming into a small puff of cold gas.
“Anything important you want me to share with Tilia or Berani?”
“No, everything is fine the way it is. I will reach you if something happens.” He looks at his friend honestly. “Go home and rest. Your fragile body doesn’t need to fly in these single-digit temperatures all day.”
Avery nods honorably. “I appreciate your kindness. I will enjoy every moment of it.” A smile grows on his face. “Though the warmth of my house can’t compare to the tenderness of serving and spending time with you, my friend.”
Copper’s ears twitch with joy. “You don’t have to keep kissing-up to me.”
Avery looks at him appalled.
Another laugh leaves Copper’s mouth. “I’m joking. I know you were being honest.”
The mockingbird sighs in relief and flies away, appearing as a small dot above the dark green, spiky pine trees poking into the clear, blue sky.
Part Two
Center of Tilia
She feels the prickles of a thousand needles of poison soaring through the young girl’s body. Horror flashes across the teen’s face as her eyes dart back and forth in desperation. The bite drips out dark blood and her leg has already begun to tremble.
I should’ve eaten that snake when I had the chance.
She senses the venom slowly killing hundreds of the girl’s cells, slowing draining life away from her with every cell that is taken into oblivion. The great hawk peers from her tree and scans the area. She knows there’s life healing herbs somewhere nearby. She should even know where exactly they should be. Her eyes take in every possible detail of her land to find it. A tiny speck of light purple pops in the distance on a high hill. She recognizes the specific shade. Adrenaline shoves her body forward into the air and she reaches the plant within a few seconds. She lands in front of them. An array of pastel purple flowers with bulbous centers stand in the cool air calmly.
Purple Cornholes. Exactly what I need.
She rips a few from their stems and flies toward the girl. Landing next to her, she sees the girl’s eyes widen. She’s not sure if this is because a hawk just landed right next to her, or if the poison is advancing its attack. Ignoring the curious thought, she picks off the purple petals with her beak and gently presses them into the wound. The girl’s gasp adds a weight to the hawk’s heart, but she rubs them more into the blood. She would rather bear the weight of the girl’s pain than her death. The hawk releases a loud SQUAK.
A Rufous hummingbird darts to her immediately.
“Send the wolf by the barrier to find the nearest human walking on foot. Guide them here to her,” the hawk commands.
The Rufous nods and speeds into the trees.
Tilia looks down onto the girl. Even if you feel there are only a few traces of life yet, don’t let go of any of them.
The girl’s eyes widen. “What? Did you…speak to…me?” she asks weakly.
Tilia’s pupils dilate. What? Did a human just hear my voice? She stares back into her eyes. Hang on.
Tilia watches the girl stroll through the sea of a grass field from afar. The afternoon sun bounces off her black hair and illuminates her dark chocolate skin. Her hands play with the strands of tall grass, bringing a childlike smile onto her face.
A Rufous hummingbird once again reaches Tilia and lands next to her on the thick branch. “What are you going to do with her?” the small creature asks hesitantly.
Tilia sighs and turns her head to look at her closest messenger. “I can’t just ban her from our land. She’s the first human to somehow hear my voice.”
“What do you think it means?” The red bird looks up at the mighty hawk.
“I wish I knew, Eilan, but I don’t,” Tilia responds impulsively.
“Did you know something similar happened almost a year ago in upstate New York?”
She turns to Eilan alarmed. “What?”
Eilan shys away cautiously. “Copper saved a boy from falling off a cliff. I thought it wouldn’t ever be possible to hear him do something like that.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?!” Tilia screeches in anger.
“I’m…I’m not sure…” Eilan says worriedly. His tiny body quakes with fear.
She sighs again, but softly this time. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
He ruffles his feathers awkwardly. “No…you were angry. You needed to let that out.”
“But not to you, Eilan. You are too precious of a creature to deal with my constant resentment. You’re meant to be my messenger, not my counselor. If I snap again, don’t hesitate to remind me.”
“Maybe you should talk this out with Copper.”
“Yes, I should,” she says, looking back at the teenager. She realizes the different shade of sunlight shift in the air. “Jasmine, come here,” Tilia shouts out.
The girl turns around and heads out of the grassy ocean. Once she emerges from the field, Tilia flies down from the tree and stands before her. “It is getting late. You should head home.”
Jasmine checks her watch. “It’s only six twenty-seven. I don’t have dinner until seven.”
“The longer you stay out here, the closer to night it will be, which will put you in a higher risk of danger.”
The girl frowns. “Can I at least visit again tomorrow after school?” The hawk looks at the ground with uncertainty.
“I’m afraid if you come more often, you may catch unwanted attention.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t stop talking, right?”
Tilia looks back up at her. “After discovering that you have this ability to even do this, it would be absurd for us to depart ways. I’ll reach out to you again when it is safe for you to visit the field.”
Jasmine smiles. “I look forward to returning.” She turns and heads for the road that sits a few yards next to the field. Once her feet touch the pavement, she follows the street westbound to her home.
Tilia observes her until her tiny speck disappears over the glowing horizon.
