The End…

Clearly, it was something. It was too odd to be nothing. Only a few months had passed since the day our world knew destruction, fear, since we learned death from the Trade Center's collapse. I myself had remained after school that day for play practice, only recently recruited for a play that would perform the next month. The month itself could have been no later than January. Practice had ended for that day, and we, my friend Greg and I, were heading towards the parking lot where we would meet our rides home. We saw the feathers first. Soft, white feathers they were, littering the grass and concrete walkway of the school-ground. They seemed like those that would fall from a pillow, or an angel's wings. The pillow was most logical. Looking up, spying where the feathers lay, brought our blood cold. In front of us, on the grass, sat two birds. In the grasp of a peregrine falcon's talons lay a white pigeon, white as a dove, white as angel's wings. The falcon didn't see us standing there, awestruck at the sight of brutality for survival. The falcon rose into the air, still carrying the pigeon. It flew towards a wall, gaining speed as it came closer to it. The corpse of the pigeon was flung from the falcon's talons into an small alcove ending in a wall. We expected it to fly down and reclaim it's prey, and it may have, possibly. Instead, it spotted us as it perched, waiting, on a nearby roof. Cautiously, Greg and I approached the alcove the pigeon had been tossed. I was hoping there was a chance…but it was not to be. We were too late for it. The poor creature was dead, and as we turned to continue our walk to the parking lot, the falcon watched.

Now and then, I remember this encounter, and remember the feeling of foreboding I felt, for Greg and I had been discussing September 11th not long before we spied the birds. The feeling is stronger now, especially with the threat of war looming overhead. For when I saw the white pigeon lying cold inside the alcove, it's feathers scattering in the wind about the campus, I felt the end of peace. The end of innocence.

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This story is one hundred percent true. Everything I felt, I saw, it happened. I felt sick every time I passed those feathers that still remained scattered on the grass, and feel ill thinking of it now. And I wonder if someone was trying to speak to me. Were we meant to see that? I only can wonder, and pray that what I fear to come will not. Pray for peace.

~TA Maxwell~