Birds of a Feather (Ongoing)

To be an Aphelion

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⤝⤞

Love isn't like it is in the books. 

~

F. Scott Fitzgerald

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"I am an Aphelion," I muttered. 

The empty echoes of my voice came bouncing back, each hitting harder than the previous. The spacious empty hall mimicked my words in spite, laughing at my futile attempts to muster confidence. 

"Stong, independent, unrestrained," I chanted.

The mantra etched a familiar pleasing taste on my tongue as I echoed my mother's words. I continued marching through the long hall. Shadows jumped and twisted in every corner despite the broad daylight pouring through the stained windows. I jumped on the angular dapples of sunlight the windows had laid across the wooden floor.  

"I am not cursed," I winced slightly at this line.

People throw the c-word around too often. The shadows continued to chase my feet as I jumped to the patches of light thrown askew on the stone tiles. I was now halfway through the hall. The booming sound of the grandfather clock looming at the end of the hall was now within the range of normal human's earshot. 

"I am gifted," I articulated. 

The stone melted to the grand oak flooring. The architect had made a mistake with the windows in this area. The windows were slanted at an angle so the light was limited. The light was pitched toward the ceiling but the ceiling was so high, the light was sucked up into an unending dark. I leaped farther to catch the diminishing light. The hollow sound of the clock pulsated deep into my bones. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The tone was old and powerful. Its song swelled from deep inside the clock and reverberated around the hall. 

Mother told me the clock was gifted. 

"I am lucky," I added. 

The clock was filled with the ashes of my Grandfather on my Father's side. Grandfather had a way to make people listen to him. One word and you will want to follow him for the rest of your life. He wasn't like Mother. Mother's aura composed of lust and beauty only worked for those who sinned for lust. Grandfather had the ability of a leader, a great one at that. He would have been greater if he hadn't met Grandmother. 

"Normal beings should be pitied," I conceded.

I tried to leap to the next splotch of light but fell a few inches short. I landed lightly on smooth black stone. The shadows that have been chasing me pounced on my feet. I shivered at the lack of light, but I was used to the shadows. Grandmother was not a normal being. She was still alive and well. I guess I don't pity her. She found someone great like my Grandfather. She is lonely now but she had warm memories of true love.