My earliest memories were those of simple beauty.
They were the memories of beauty that I could talk about without tears, for when we are young we know only bliss and curiosity, and we must only worry how our mother sees us- the simple question of making sure she only sees us when we're not busy getting into all sorts of trouble.
I was a breezy chick.
I remember running off into the meadow and coming back to chirp away about the flowers and the clouds and the birds until tired ears wished I'd never returned.
I was always curious back when I thought I wanted to know everything, and that every new lesson learned would be something I'd be delighted to learn.
Throughout my childhood my personality always seemed as a mix of quiet and bubbly.
I didn't give it much thought, though, since an inner personality comes in almost as naturally as one's feathers even though I'd learn it's not as consistently permanent.
I was just me.
I was yet unnamed, I couldn't picture myself, and I hadn't lived near long enough to discover any of the secrets within me.
The only thing I knew was that I was me. And back then that was sufficient, but now...
Now that tiny piece of information was a fading memory in the thickening mist of new struggles to be faced.
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Standard of Perfection- a story of true beauty
General FictionThe Standard of Perfection is a set of rules that make a fancy fowl... perfect. To match up to those guidelines qualifies a chicken to be entered in a show, and competitive breeders will stop at nothing to achieve that. But what happens when a chick...