My Gift To You
Reality Warping: ultimate (rank 4)
Why were we so blessed? These few that had been marked by a feather without their knowing? I had hurried to push aside the swathes of unnamed faces that demonstrated stories and lives untold to find the one of myself, bright eyed and full of wonder in my childhood years, clutching the red firetruck I was never seen without. I’d circled the feather in that photo, using a thick red marker pen.
I couldn’t know if they had all received the letter that I held in my offhand, but there was something that told me they all experienced the man’s influence much the same as I had. I had never seen him, nor met him; I held no ties to his existence save for the quaint letter and yet he found a way to reach through possibility just to guide me and protect me, to guide and protect others. He was not a direct man from what I could tell, and his methods subtle beyond telling. To hide oneself in the past of a thousand different people with the simple goal of of bettering the lives of total strangers... now that was a feat worthy of praise.
He could have only been a man. Only men have such a drive to bring light to the lives of others. Nothing else maintains such spirit and love for it’s fellow kind. From what little I know of him, he was merely there in the back, unnoticed and unappreciated, but that did not phase him. He could take the neglect and continue his pursuit of grace; he never judged us for being human, he took us in shielded us from all those wishing to do harm upon us. Only by his hand are we all still standing in this world he helped to forge - this world he helps to guard, eternal, like the aegis, he watches. I know he does.
Who else would?
From Humble Beginnings
Power Negation: supreme (rank 3)
I said that he wears a face of disappointment and broken promise, and I stand by that conviction. The day a man can save us all, and do everything right is the day he is no longer a man. he would have nothing left to better if he himself was perfect. Without the letter, there is nothing. No contact, no love.
I suppose I can speculate on the things that drive him: maybe he feels regret that some of us still feel the need to sin, despite all he did to free us from the clutches of despair and the pits of agony. From what I have seen of men who do not live in the indiscernible like he does, you cannot break what is already broken.
Until The End Of Time
Time Manipulation: supreme (rank 3)
Had our unseen time together come to an end? I can’t say how long it has been, maybe seconds, maybe years. Time becomes whimsical when dealing with the past, when delving into the recesses of what is and what may be, for the sake of finding the man who reached to me through a wave of hopes and dreams, shattered lives and loves lost and found. His letter was a goodbye, that much was certain, though the words were never spoken. Was it a farewell from him or to me? Was I leaving him, or was he leaving me? I sat, speaking to myself like a half-crazed monk, asking the questions I was afraid to ask: had any of these people ever met the man of feathers? Maybe if I had the pleasure of catching glimpses in surreal sleepless dreams and unplaced visions, then perhaps they would have done the same with their eyes and not their minds. Sometimes I dreamt I was my Grandfather, holding the feather loose in my palm while writing love poems in flowing hand on old paper to a wife whose time was limited. Other times I was the soldier, and I could feel his pride as I wrote home one last time before I went over the top - my writing was steady, calm and beautiful for a man promised an early grave.
Each time, these goodbyes were familiar.
I am the child of a Mechanic and a Secretary, and the words of the man who had been with me my entire life became so blindingly clear.
“From Humble Beginnings, until the end of time. I am always with you.”
I signed my name with all the others that were scrawled at the bottom of the sheet that were there to show their thanks to an unnamed man for being there when nobody else was. I folded the paper, and pushed down on the wax seal, heating it when the flame of a lighter, being careful not to set fire to the paper itself. It did not take long to set, which I finalized with the imprinting of an engraving of a feather, set into my ring. Lifting my hand, it was sealed once more. I could never have known him directly; he existed beyond my reach - beyond all of our reaches. Grace amazes me, this man taught me the meaning of such. With a sigh, I bound the letter with the crumbling string and sent it on it’s way.