The Price of Feathers

1

My father used to tell me that our fates were written years before we are born. There is no contending with fate. He believed that all roads lead to the same place. We have no true freedom to venture outside the perimeters of our prescribed destiny. For that reason, there is nothing more frivolous than defying fate. We are damned to live the life we are meant to live.

Well, that's what my father believed. If my life was an example to go by, fate was fucked up, and whoever wrote it had no business writing a grocery list, let alone the itinerary of my life.

So, sorry, fate, but I'm going to be winging this one. Maybe in my next life, I'll take your plan into account.

***

The notion of destiny always left Raven with a foul taste in her mouth It took on the taste of fowl medicine used to distract you from your illness instead of curing it. It took a conversation with Death himself to help her realise that destiny was, in fact, a gift and not always something to loath. Sometimes fate could be a haven of sorts and provide lost souls, like her. It could offer her some reprieve from the day-to-day torment. It promised a lack of options and in turn, also frees us from making decisions. It could make you feel alive if you let it; the way a bird is alive within a cage. Free or imprisoned life should still be adored.

The weight of fate was never more present than on Raven's 18th birthday, 9 September 2015.

She had been waiting for that day from the time she was old enough to know the value of independence.18 years old. The age at which one is no longer property of your family, or in my case the age at which I was no longer a ward of the state. She had no family to speak of. She had spent my life on a seemingly endless tour on the orphanage express. Despite the soul-numbing experience of jumping from one foster "home" to the next, one thing made it survivable. One person should I say, Sage. She was the oldest daughter of the last foster family she was placed with. She soon became be saving grace. She couldn't understand it at first. She had spent so much time closing my heart off to everything and everybody that eventually I forgot how to use it. Hell, she had never even had someone care about her enough to name her.

Raven had come from the hair dye box that she saw on one of her trips to the grocery store before kindergarten for her third foster father. She had the same hair as the woman on the box so she assumed the name of the colour as her own.

Before that she was 'Jane Doe' and nobody cared to ask her name anyways

Not until Sage.

With her rich auburn hair that reflected the perfect autumn warmth, expressive green eyes and lips that felt like home. She was everything Raven was too afraid to wish for. She loved me. She loved me. It scared me at first and she spent months denying it but she could not fight it off forever. Not when she could taste it on her lips or feel it through her warmth as her fingers danced along my skin.

When She turned 18, she was finally able to love Sage the way she deserved. She was going to become worthy of her of the girl she loved. She wasn't her foster sister anymore. They no longer had to hide our love. They were free to love as free people loved; wholeheartedly and unrestrained.

So, they did. They celebrated their freedom. They spent the day together: laughing, loving, being together and enjoying the full freedom of our togetherness. They started their day at the park sitting underneath our favourite cedar tree. They rested against the tree trunk with the warm bark as a headboard and their fingers intertwined and our shared warmth embracing us. Raven loved the feel of Sage's delicate brown locks touching her face as she nestled her head in the crook of the older girl's neck.

Moments like these made everything evaporate; her troubled past and all of my insecurities. Even the tree that they laid against for support became a distant memory with her Sage beside her. She was all that my universe consisted of.