Feathers

Prologue

The wind blew through my hair as I perched on the branch of a strong Maple tree. It was a nice, cool zephyr that the scents of Autumn drifted on and were carried from browning cornfields to cozy little homes. There was a smirk on my face that told the world I felt very clever, had the world been there to see it. The bullfrogs and crickrets were the only actual witnesses to my techniques.

Snap! A stick cried out from underneath the soles of a pair of sandals. "Finally, she's here," I thought to myself. I dropped silently onto a lower branch. As my prey walked by, clueless of my presence, I flung myself from my look-out post and tackled her playfully to the ground. Laughing, we tumbled into a pile of fiery Fall leaves. When she caught her breath, my friend asked, "How do you stay so quiet?"

"I dunno," I shrugged my shoulders.

"Just once, I wish you'd mess up. Then, I could scare the life out of you!"

"It just takes practice."

"Whatever," she pouted.

I stared at her in disbelief. The fact that she sometimes looked at me, of all people, with jealousy made no sense. Lauren was already growing up beautifully. She had a friendly personality and trusting hazel eyes. Her skin wasn't tanned, but sun-kissed. Lauren could make anyone laugh and her perfect white teeth gleamed as she laughed along with them. In short, it was universally accepted that my honey-haired, pagent-girl neighbor was adorable. I, on the other hand, simply blended into the background.

Sensing the tension in the air, I suggested we go to the beach. The beach is what everyone in town called the sandy bank between the ede of the woods and the lake. Lauren agreed. Suddenly, she perked up and yelled, "I'll race you there!" before taking off into the brush. I rolled my eyes. I could, and usually did, climb back into the trees with ease and use the higher route to my advantage. However, Lauren usually called this method, "cheating," and since she had already gotten upset with me once, I decided to let her win.

A couple of minutes later, I strolled onto the beach where a rather satisfied Lauren sat playing in the sand. "What took you so long?" she grinned. Once again, I shrugged my shoulders, (that became a bad habit of mine that took a couple of years to break) and quickly made up an excuse.

"I got lost."

She could tell I was lying, and now it was her turn to roll her eyes. That was usually how it worked, a perpetual cycle of eye-rolling. Just when I thought she'd let it go, Lauren stood up and challenged me once more.

"I bet I can find more Indian beads than you!"

"Why does everything have to be so competitive," I thought to myself. I did like finding Indian beads though, so I shrugged my shoulders and replied, "Sure."

Some children look for seashells at the beach, but you wouldn't find any of those on the banks of Shelby Lake. When children from around town came out and dug in the sand, the best collectible they could find where Indian beads. These beads were cylandrical and grey with ridges that circled around the bead. Nearly all of them had been filled in with sediment, and the middles petrified. Occasionally, the beads would turn up in the park or in backyards, although it was more common to find one near the woods. Every time I held one, my curiosity about its creators and their culture grew.

"Found one!" I exclaimed, brusing the sand away from my fingers.

Lauren ran over to where I was crouched. "Aw! You always get lucky," she whined.

I held the bead at eye level. It was the only one I ever found that I could see straight through out the other side. I saw the bridge over the lake. Two cars were speeding along across it. They were going opposite ways. For some reason, the green car in the right lane merged into the left lane. The blue car didn't have time to stop. It collided with the green one and bounced off towards the rail. Lauren heard the crash and looked up at the bridge. I felt her grab onto me as the blue car broke through the the railing and went over the side of the bridge. We both screamed as it plumented into the lake. Tears rolled down Lauren's cheeks as I sat there, stunned and at a loss for words.

Finally, I looked at my friend and said, "I think we should go home."

"What do we tell our parents?"

"Nothing, unless you want to. It'll be on the news."

I helped her up and walked her home. My house was just around the corner from her street. I hugged Lauren goodbye and she seemed to have calmed down quite a bit. I thought I was going to be alright, until I got home and walked in the front door.