Do Unto Others

by Fahiru

It's so funny, the texture of a bird's feather. Its structure unlike the covering of any other animal, rough, but still silkily deceptive in appearance. Only the underside is really soft, but the core of a feather is hollow.

I've often seen feathers used for things, get enough of them and they serve a small comfort, such as a pillow, or a mattress. On occasion I will see one being made into a quill pen; the end cut off so it may fill itself with the blackness of ink. It can't hold much, but when drained it is always still a little bit stained on the inside, there's always that little bit of ink that will not come out.

I never liked feathers. When I sat with my father, I was always surrounded by immaculate white pinions, while my own plumage was black. I hated my black feathers, but I hated the white feathers even more for making my darkness stand in even starker contrast.
My father didn't like my feathers either. He said that it did not suit my human body, that I was neither one nor the other, but an ugly in-between. I hated the indecisiveness of my existence. And I hated even more that I could not change it, could never be rid of something so repulsive and unlovable.

But he didn't see the blackness of my feathers. At times I felt, perhaps he couldn't see at all. But that was okay. That was better.

I hadn't seen my father in years. Over time, I had quite forgotten his existence, that I was ugly. But still, He could not see me.

The first time I asked Him, he said he didn't know. I supposed, If he could not see me, he could never know whether I was lovely or foul, so he could never love me. But nor could he hate me. He was indecisive in nature, just like me. And so I told him what to think, and I was not told that I was ugly. When I asked for it, he would tell me that he loved me.

I was not happy. But I didn't hate it.

"Tell me you love me."

I had not seen white feathers in a very long time. When they appeared, I was a bit shocked by their presence. For a moment, for longer than a moment, I forgot myself and was able to think for the first time in my life what an extraordinarily lovely color white is.

But in the light, darkness holds no sway. In the light, a blind man can see.

In the light, I would still be dark and ugly. I no longer wanted the light.

"Say you love me, would you?"

I brought Him into the darkness too, and in it, He could no longer touch the white feathers I hated so much.

But He didn't look at me, even in darkness, He would not turn my way.

"You do love me, you know."

I was losing him.

The world began to break down around me, as I saw him leave and pursue other darkness, but never me.

If he did glance my way, it was to scoff and mock my longing for him, for his love.

And he began to fall deeper.

"You're the only one that can love me."

And then I found out.

I saw the truth of my skin revealed to me. I had no feathers.

I was not a bird.

I could not fly.

But I was not made of darkness.

"Would this make you love me?"

He was gone. He no longer scorned me, nor did he look away from me. But He Himself was no longer there.

He was a bird.

He had become a very dark little bird, and he was terrified of Himself. I could not save him, I had brought him to this, and so he turned away from me. He turned to become blind once more.

I didn't want it. I didn't want to lose him, the boy who would never love me.

"I've always loved you."

A black feather is not very useful sucking up all the ink, but when it lets it out it gives you words to express your thoughts. I think, when a writing quill starts to work, I don't dislike feathers so much.

And now that I'm no longer saturated in the swelling blackness of darkness, I don't really dislike white feathers so much either.

Because his wings were white too.

Title Explanation: No true love can be received until one has the ability to truly love another person. Do unto others as you would have done to yourself.