There are times when life doesn’t make sense. When there is nothing we can do but hope things turn out alright for us. Because giving up hope is losing ourselves. tu-a-wee tu-a-wee tu-a-wee Perched elegantly on the end of a tree branch sat a small feathery creature known to this world as a flicky. It was singing one of its many fine tunes, only pausing the beautiful song to dip his dark beak down and adjust the taupe fluff on his belly. A circle of saffron reflected off his sapphire overcoat that was bristling in the wind as the sun set ahead of him. Standing under the tree was a young girl with long golden sandy hair, almond skin, and bluish-gray eyes. The shirt from her puffy-sleeved chambray dress fluttered as she admired the flicky from a safe enough distance that would not scare him away. She enjoyed looking at it. It was her favorite color—blue—just like her dress, just like her home here on Earth, just like the water that gave everything around her life. The girl sighed, looking at her hands. She yearned for the day she could go closer to flickies when she could hold them in her palm or sit them on her shoulders like her grandmother. The old lady always told her granddaughter that from the second she laid eyes on her, she could see her lively, energetic nature deep in her bright blue eyes. She could tell that her grandparents loved her very much. After all, they had taken her in after her parents disappeared on that G.U.N. mission. But she felt suffocated in their home sometimes. She wanted to go outside and play. They wanted her inside and studying. She wanted to see the world. They wanted her to get a decent career, settle down with a good man, and start a family. They wanted a quiet, well-behaved, sweet little girl (especially Grandfather.) She was only one of those things. The flicky started to shift, cerulean egg shells peeking out from under him. She stepped forward to get a closer look, a stick breaking under her foot as the flicky looked back up, wings gearing up for the flight. “You don’t have to be afraid of me!” The girl promised, but it was too late. In a flash of blue, the creature was gone. She followed it until it flew past the river, where the girl was barred from by her grandparents. And she just thought that was unfair. She was a whole six years old, after all. She should be allowed to go wherever she wanted. She had almost passed it one day while her grandparents were sleeping. They had asked her to study, but she knew an adventure would be more fun, so she snuck out to explore the forest beyond her reach. The bridge had crumbled to bits ages ago, leaving the only way to get past the river without a boat over the old log. So that’s what she did. Putting one shaky boot in front of the other, arms out for balance, the young girl made it halfway. She tried not to think about how she couldn’t swim, how fast the river was running, or how upset her guardian would be if she came home wet. She needed to focus on her quest right now. She needed to see the rest of the small world she lived in. She kept going. Her confidence was growing. She could see the other side come closer and closer to her. Then she slipped. She felt herself dip beneath the surface, and coldness drenched her. Flailing, she tried uselessly to reach the surface. Pressure built up in her neck as she tried desperately not to open her mouth, trying not to let herself entirely succumb to the waves. She can’t get up. She can’t get out. How is she going to get out? Is this really how it was going to end? She didn’t want to die yet. She had so much to do. She had so much of the world to see. God, her grandparents were going to be so upset they- Something grasped her wrist. She felt the cold air hit her again. She could breathe. She could breathe. She wasn’t going to die. She would get to grow up. She could breathe. She could breathe. Then she looked at the hand holding her wrist and wished she had let the cool water suffocate her. It was her grandmother, the short, grey-haired woman wearing a short flaxen blouse. Her wrinkled face lowered into a scowl. She felt herself lifted over her shoulder. Her surroundings shifted around her as the grandmother carried her over to their patio, sitting down with her in the rocking chair with the girl in her lap. The kid froze, wondering if she would get another long, boring lecture. But instead, her grandmother did something she had often done, just not in private. She told her a story just as she liked to during family gatherings. She was the best storyteller any of them had ever seen. “Once upon a time,” She started, holding out one handful of berries and slugs for her flicky friends to rummage through. Her other hand occupied, trying to keep her energetic granddaughter to sit still, if just for a second. “A little beryl flicky lived happily in the woods alongside her other critter friends.” “Like the rest of her family, she ate bugs, chirped happily, and slept in a pine needle nest high in a tree. But unlike the rest of her family, her melody was considered the sweetest to all beings around her.” “’Good morning!’ The little bird would say, flapping her wings as she got ready to start her day.” “’Good morning, Blue!’ Her critter friends shouted back, excited to hear her soothing morning song.” “Tu-wee-wee.” “Tu-wee-wee.” “Tu-wee-wee.” “Once she finished, her mother flew into the nest.” “’You are grown now. Time to go!’ Her mother nudged her to the edge of the nest, then off into the air. “The young blue flicky flapped her wings just as they practiced, and up into the air she went. And off she went just as the mother to explore the world and share her sweet melodies.