The Sign

On a day wrapped in fog and years, you yearn for a speck of color.

You’re here, at the edge of the world. It’s lonely. It’s hard to appreciate the flat barren land around you as far as you can see.

Feelings built up and cloud your senses, but you won’t let them penetrate your heart. You want to think, long and hard, but it’s tough with all this emotion pushing you close to tears.

The way you see it, it’s important to observe the little good-luck signs. Promises of a better tomorrow.

There’s nothing.

And then you see it.

Actually, you nearly step on it. But regardless, it gets your attention. A small bird on the ground, one wing crooked.

Gently, you bent down and lightly stroke it. It chirps feebly.

You give the wing a small push. It slides into place. Carefully you place the bird on its feet.

It gives another chirp, then flies away, with one fleeting glance back at you. A spot of red against a gray sky.

Which only goes to prove that in a world of darkness and hate, love and life still live on.

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