Mockingjay
It's wings stretched out in flight, tail straight and proud. Silvery feathers gleaming in the dim twilight, the tips of them shrouded in shadow. It's bright orange beak long and sharp, just like it's curved talons. Golden eyes bright and wise, not missing a single thing. A regal creature, fit to lead a rebellion: the Mockingjay.
The Cycle of Life
My eyes followed the pebble's arc in the air as it landed into the lake with a small splash. Ripples appeared on the blue surface, disrupting the calm that was just a moment ago. I sat down beside the lake and dip my feet in, relishing the feel of the cool water against my skin on this hot summer's day. I hear grandma's rocking chair on the porch squeak and I knew she came to watch me. Sighing contentedly, I lay down on my back, feet still in the water. I stare up and the cloudless blue sky and marvelled at this perfect afternoon. The sky was the last thing I saw before I fell asleep.
I was in the house, looking at my old family albums when I heard a small splash. I looked out the window. My grandaughter slowly walked to the lake and dipped her feet in. That looked relaxing, so I went out to the porch to watch her. It was a beautiful summer day, but quite hot. I'm sure the lake would feel as cool to the skin as it did when I was a child, my grandaughter's age. I remember when I would take a nap with my feet still dangling in the cool water, my face to the blue sky. My own grandmother would watch me from the porch, just as I watch my own now. I half wished my grandaughter would invite me to join her. But I know my young days are over. I just hope this secluded blue paradise will make grandaughters happy for many generations to come.
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A young man stood at the top of the steep hill and looked up at the dark starry sky, his chocolate brown hair rustling as the chilly wind swept across his handsome face.
“In fortnight’s time, the moon will once again be full,” he whispered sadly to himself. The nighttime breeze blew away his words away as soon as they came out.
The man, Gavin, stared pityingly at the small pinpricks of light at the foot of the cliff. Yet there was nothing he could do about it. He sighed, his warm breath clouding in the cool air. In exactly two weeks it would be Christmas’ Eve. A time of joy, laughter and good will. The poor boy and his family would never know what hit them.
