Feathers. Who knows where one might lead you? Fly into this collection o feathered stories.
Writers responded to the prompt, and what follows is a collection of perspectives in 99-word stories arranged like literary anthropology.
Those published at Carrot Ranch are The Congress of Rough Writers.
The Gryphons by Nicole Horlings
there were warnings
not to take those paths;
never linger near the nests,
beware when feathers ruffle,
and respect the royal truce
but a different king in the castle
desiring dangerous convenience
decreed garish rewards to those
who revealed the monsters muffled,
and the land trembled in terror
let the legends linger long,
the memories of those who mourn
mimic the glory that once glowed,
until feet shift and shuffle
when their extinction is evident
yet voices grumble
accepting no accountability
glaringly asking why their generation is accused
when feathers ruffle,
reveal the monsters muffled;
feet shift and shuffle
The Haggis by C. E. Ayr
There are three different breeds of these savage creatures.
The Furry Hillside Haggis has two short and two long legs, and hunts bairns on the slopes of the misty mysterious Ben.
The Wild Marine or Sea-Water Haggis has a shell of steel and claws like daggers, and if you tempt them onto the rocks, you can sometimes trap them in a stout wooden box.
But the Three-legged Nasty Haggis has sharp teeth and feathers, and scurries around under the heather, ready to attack knees or anything else under the kilt.
Ah, the Highlands, the most romantic spot on earth.
AHH-CHOO! by Liz Husebye Hartmann
Alana shifted, quick step and stomp, nearly stumbling. A drop of sweat ran down the powerful slope of her nose, around the edge of her nostril, and dangled, tickling and stinging. She blew once, twice, and the drop sailed into endless blue skies, evaporating in the shearing heat.
Her shoulders ached with having taken on the weight of the world for her sketchy cousin, Atlas.
Dammit! He’d promised to pick them up a couple of Popeye’s chicken sandwiches, then be right back. The lines must be really long.
A feather floated, settling on her sweaty upper lip.
Whispers of Faeries by Deborah A. Bowman
“Hush, quiet makes them come,”
I whispered to my daughter, Kelsey.
She looked up, bathed in sun.
4 years old, bright red hair; she’s a wee faerie!
The standing stones, tucked away.
The time was right; planets set, providing the edge!
I had waited years for this day.
Bringing Kelsey to Scotland, her heritage.
A gray cloud floated by.
In shadow, wisp of a glowing feather.
It took flight and I started to cry,
Holding my breath…
Hundreds of feathers, alive, dancing in the sun!
Golden feathers with wings, tiny faces. “See, Kelsey?”
“The Faeries have come!”
The Feather by Norah Colvin
‘It’s not just a feather. It’s the feather.’
‘The one from the beach that day.’
‘Remember when we went to the beach and there was a flock of birds that looked like they were having a conference but when they saw us they flew away and one dropped a feather that landed on top of our castle. We knew it was a sign, they were telling us something.’
‘That’s just silly childish stuff.’
‘It was a sign. The birds need our help. The bulldozers have arrived. They will destroy the habitat. We must stop them!’
It was time to board the plane. Branwen walked up the steps and tried to find her seat. Sitting down, she found she was shaking. She always hated flying this way, but traveling to the other side of the world was a long way and she really had no choice.
“You a nervous flyer?” asked the flight attendant.
“I just like to be the one in control when I fly.” Branwen answered.
“Oh, are you a pilot?”
“In a manner of speaking.” She replied. The flight attendant left. Branwen held on tightly to a raven feather, just in case.
Black Feather by Ann Edall-Robson
Squawking interrupts the quiet of the post dawn. Insistent parents teaching fledglings. Myths surround the onyx coloured spirit bird with the piercing eyes. Yet, once you get to know them, they’re the friend you want hanging around. The one who’ll have your back, lets you know you’re watched over, gives you a nudge when you would rather be left alone, and lets you see insightful truths. On this morning, when their wings took them skyward to see who else they could annoy with their noise, the crows left a gift. A reminder of their importance…One lone black feather.
Memories by Saifun Hassam
A dappled feather floated down gently on the open page of Selena’s journal. She loved the early morning quiet of the backyard, her favorite writing spot.
The feather reminded her of a silver filigree necklace, a gift from Grandma. An intricate network of overlapping silver feathers from an antique shop. Selena loved jewelry and books, odds and ends, rich with stories from someone else’s life.
Selena wore it to Grandma’s funeral. She traced the feathers in the necklace, which somehow had become a “journal” for her. A reminder of happy times. And the quarrels that tore apart her parents.
The Feather by FloridaBorne
Though it was forbidden, Mary held within her hand the remains of a turkey feather once part of her great-great-great grandfather’s cape.
During a time before Europeans, men of her tribe wore breechcloth and women only wore skirts made of animal skins. Each generation, the patriarch passed this feather along to his oldest son as a reminder of their heritage.
But the Cherokee were matriarchal.
Before the Europeans arrived no one was saddled with her name. She put the tattered token of her family’s delusions back into the plastic bag, and tucked the wretched thing into its ornamental box.
Worth Waiting For by Rebecca Glaessner
They chose Earth. Chose a human child.
Though her mind began dark, she, my host, became my home.
As she grew, I learned how her brain worked completely, every single firing synapse that surrounded me.
I even stepped her back off a cliff once.
That was a fight.
She didn’t want to stay. They wanted to extract me, to let her do her thing, find me another host.
That was then.
Matured, I return to Earth in a form of my choosing, feathers soft and powerful.
She’s waiting at that cliff edge.
We’ll soar this time.
Douglas by Simon Prathap D
Douglas, his Blue feather fell on my car.
Humans, so much drama for one life. Rituals, caste, colour, money decides luxury of a coffin, Dead doesn’t know how they were buried right? then why these drama? No words! Tears could be true, dramas are not.
Douglas, 9 years old, male canaries birds don’t usually live longer, I know he will disappear one day. Birds don’t usually die in front of us, they don’t wish to. But with a little hope, I leave Douglas will come back one day, I’m keeping his feather.
Douglas, birds don’t die, they fly high.
Hindsight by Michael Fishman
I bought a parakeet with green and yellow feathers.
They put it in a box.
At home I put it into a birdcage I got at a garage sale.
The parakeet looked around.
Shortly, it became anxious.
For two days it did nothing but climb up and down the sides of the cage and scream.
Pretty bird. Scared bird.
I became anxious.
Neither of us slept.
I put it into the box and returned it.
“Sorry,” I said.
Maybe another parakeet died in the cage and my parakeet knew?
Maybe I should have cleaned the cage.
Hindsight, they say.
Angus — A Short Romance by Doug Jacquier
Angus had torn his shorts rough-housing in the playground. Back in class, Miss Anderson (his secret love) noticed.
‘Angus, what have you done to your shorts?’
‘Nonsense, young man. Come here.’
Angus, light-headed and leaden-footed, presented himself at Miss Anderson’s desk. She produced a sewing kit and proceeded to sew up the tear.
As her fingers brushed against the skin of his thigh, his uncontrollable puberty announced itself suddenly and unmistakably.
Clearly flustered, Miss Anderson snipped the thread and ordered Angus to return to his seat. Scarlet-faced, but glowing with undying devotion, Angus obeyed, floating on feathers.
Fletcher by R. V. Mitchell
Hugh Fletcher examined the pile of goose feathers on the bench and shook his head. Lefts, he mused. He always gives me bleeding lefts. Hugh knew that there was only one left-handed archer in the village and yet the reeve continually provided him with left wing feathers, and far too many of them cocks and not nearly enough hens. He knew it was his own fault of course. He should never have courted and married Lizzie Browne, when he knew that Robert Reeve had fancied her. Now he would look incompetent yet again as his bowmen lost the tournament.
Ruffled Feathers by Sue Spitulnik
Tessa stomped into the house and slammed the door behind her. “Mom makes me so mad.”
“I guess she ruffled your feathers again. About what now?” Michael asked.
“I explained to her that the base and medical benefits I lost when I got divorced, I would get back when we get married. Instead of looking at it as a positive, she reminded me I wouldn’t be able to take her to the Officer’s Club for dinner.”
“Her and her status hang up. I’ll tell her that the NCO Club food is better because there are more NCOs than Officers.”
Love Tokens by Anne Goodwin
She didn’t need to go elsewhere to meet him. He was threaded through the fabric of their home. His hatred of spaghetti in the kitchen. His favourite artist down the hall.
She found mementos everywhere. Gifts bestowed to cheer her day. Chocolate in the cutlery drawer. Photos in the airing cupboard. A curled feather where she laid her head to sleep.
Every Valentine’s, a peacock plume. Sufficient now to clothe a taxidermy bird.
She stores these new ones, small and grey, with her jewellery. She doesn’t grasp her pillow’s leaking stuffing. She needs his greetings from beyond the grave.
Oh, Nora! by Donna Matthews
Nora screamed a blood-curdling scream again and again. I couldn’t untangle myself from the sleeping bag fast enough. Crawling on all fours, I finally reach her…grabbing her up and searching for injuries. Not seeing any blood or bites, relief floods me.
“Nora, baby! What? What?”
“The baby bunny!
Confusion. “The what?”
Her tear-streaked face looking up to the tall pines at the edge of our campsite.
“The baby bunny! I was feeding him and a big scary bird took him away!”
Sure enough, a combination of feathers and rabbit fur drift down from the towering trees overhead. Oh, Nora.
Aloysius’s Discovery by Nancy Brady
Aloysius, AKA Rainbow, serendipitously discovered that his multi-colored fur had magical powers. Blue seemed connected with sky. This began the day he found a blue jay’s feather on the ground. When he touched it with his front paw, he felt himself lifting from the ground. All four feet fanned out, and with his tail as a rudder, he flew.
Okay, Aloysius was a bit clumsy with flying at first, but with his trusty feather stuck behind his left ear, he soon soared over treetops and roofs. No one seemed to notice a flying cat, and he found it empowering.
Lunch with Stewart by Bill Engleson
“I wouldn’t worry about him, Karl. He’s no heavyweight.”
Stewart usually gave good advice. This time I wasn’t so sure. I could feel Harry the Hamster breathing down my neck. Small town financial planning was competitive. Almost a blood sport. And maybe I was slowing down. Not as hungry as I once was.
“Maybe,” I agreed, “but he ain’t no featherweight either.”
“Even featherweights got a kick, Karl. But I agree, he’s no Kid Chocolate.”
“Cuban boxer. Way before our time. The Cuban Bon Bon. Ferocious fighter.
Stewart always took my mind off my worries.
“Tell me more.”
Feathers by Anita Dawes
What is it about feathers
That has us looking for angels?
I can see one falling in front of me
In my garden nearly every day
So where do the white feathers come from
Are they hidden beneath their wings?
I cannot say I have ever noticed
Maybe angels do fly over head
I remember mother saying
That the only feather that matters
Is the one you catch in your hand
This brings great luck
Have you ever tried catching one
Dancing on the wind?
Turn around and back again
Still, it lands on the ground at your feet…
Feathers by Willow Willers
Tom reached out and caught the feather. He smiled, angel feather he thought.
The angel above him was weeping, their feathers were falling soon so would the angel.
Tom held the feather, “jump” he said looking up, “I will catch you.” The angel knew they could trusted him, Tom had faith enough for both of them.
Another feather fell into his hand, the angel’s tears dried and they smiled. Taking the leap of faith the angel fell into Tom’s arms. Falling the angel became whole. Love shone from Tom’s eyes. The angel naked but safe knew he was home.
Avian Mystery by JulesPaige
from the porch roof eave
How long had the mother bird coddled her nestlings? Who’d she raise? The nest was there before we left for just a few days. It was down on our return. A treasure of woven things and a variety of feathers of all colors, shapes and sizes. The closest thing I found in my searching was that the black and white feathers may have belonged to a Downy Woodpecker. I’ll never know who took down the nest. I hope the birds will build again next spring.
Still Smiling by Annette Rochelle Aben
My best friend, Trina, used to say that every time she found a feather, it was a message from someone she loved, who was on the other side. She happened to mention this at her father’s celebration of life gathering when we found a feather inside her mother’s refrigerator. We smiled.
The day of viewing for Trina’s body found me surrounded by our friends and her family. Her sister handed me a container filled with cookies, that Trina had marked for me to have only minutes before she died. Left behind, on the table, was a feather. We smiled.
Good Will Hatching by D. Avery
“Okay, I’m here. Mother trucking services. What’s up?”
“It’s epic, Marge.”
Brightly colored clothing spilled and tumbled out of boxes and bags that lined Ilene’s walkway.
“What’s epic, Lloyd?”
“Yes! I’m divesting myself of my plumage! It’s simple earth tone tunics and leggings for me from here on out.”
“Don’t you mean legging? Really, Ilene? No more Toucan Sam outfits? Bet Fruit Loops here put you up to this. You going to cut your big hair too?”
“No! That’s my crowning glory!”
“At least keep this pink feather boa, Ilene. And what’s this?”
“My unicorn headband.”
Follow The Feathers by Hugh W. Roberts
What is the source of the strange coloured feathers on the stairs?
Slowly opening the front door, thirteen-year-old Adrian listened for signs of life.
Confident that nobody was home, he stepped inside.
Should he go to the kitchen for snacks or upstairs to turn on his new Playstation?
The strange coloured feathers had the answer. Adrian picked them up as he ascended the stairs.
Walking past his parents’ bedroom, he suddenly stopped. She was wearing her favourite dress and feathered boa, applying makeup and doing her hair in the dressing table mirror, a figure he knew.
“Adrian!” came the deep voice of his father, turning round to face his son.
Willie the Chick Magnet by Lawrence Trasciatti
‘Nobody wants to admit that Willie’s a bit off,’ Fred told Alice.
”He keeps a pet ostrich in his small apartment.’
‘ I’ve noticed,’ she replied. ‘Whenever he has company he always sets a place at the table for his ostrich.
There are feathers all over the place but he keeps them so neatly organized
Women he’s courted find his pet so cute.
Each lady, if he thinks she’s special, gets a feather.’
‘I wanted to fix him up with Agnes,’ Fred said, ‘but she has asthma.’
‘One day,’ Alice said, ‘with that ostrich he’ll find someone perfect for him.’
Spring Training in Tucson by Carole Warren
All-Star pitcher, ready on the mound, squints for catcher’s signal. He shakes off three fingers, then nods for one. A fastball. The Big Unit has earned fame for his killer pitches.
Left foot on rubber, #51 towers 6’10” above the mound.
Set position. Stretch. Right knee up. Release. WHOOSH!
Strike! But not a traditional “in the zone” call.
The ball collided with perfect precision into a mourning dove.
An explosion of feathers floated in the air between Diamondback pitcher and catcher. Carcass falls.
The fans in Electric Park released a collective “huuuaaAHH!”
A historical pitch known as Fowl Ball.
Feathers on a Cap by Ruchira Khanna
“Congratulations!” cheered Soniya’s friends as she walked towards them with stretched hands.
“I did it!” she shouted with glassy eyes and clenched fists.
Once all the congratulatory messages were through. Her mom slid a handful of feathers under the tassel of her graduation cap.
“What’s this for?” Soniya inquired with wide eyes, “Shouldn’t I get only one feather since I just graduated.”
“A feather indicates accomplishments, and this is one of them.”
“My girl, you are Compassionate, Courageous, Hardworking, Creative, and now you’re a graduate proves you’ve accomplished your goal.”
“Aah! Thank you, Mom, for being my inspiration.”
Feather by Ann Edall-Robson
no direction in mind
with the clouds
the open range
for how long
to and fro
listening to the
tossed into the air
to travel across
sashay up and down
jostled to a standstill
thrown to the ground
grassy thorns penetrate
end over end
to a full stop
void of wind
full circle resonates
beginning or end
to line a nest
Red Feathers of 1932 by Charli Mills
She plucked the chicken, swiping a feather from her forehead. Now what, thought Nella. Dumplings tonight wouldn’t stop the hunger pains to come. No more eggs. No more breakfasts for loggers. Loggers turned to the rails. Hoboes for hire. She brushed off her mother’s borrowed apron. When she left the northern peninsula to teach in Detroit, she never imagined she’d return broke. But the economy crashed, no one could pay taxes and schools closed. Capitalism. She growled the word. It had robbed all workers down to the last chicken. Tonight, she’d join Frank at the meeting with the communists.
The Feather by Jenne Gray
She sits on a rock, gazing out across the bay, a halo of sadness around her.
Impregnable it seems.
A lone feather floats on the breeze, hesitates, hovers beside her.
It drifts down and gently grazes her cheek, drawing her from her dark reverie.
She half-smiles, reaches for it.
But it flutters away, teasing…
Surprised, she follows it, tentatively at first, then joining its joyous game…
Until – at last – she sees again the beauty of the bay, the sun sparkling on the water, reflecting the blues too many to describe.
She breathes deeply, smiles.
The feather is gone.
Keepin’ Up by D. Avery
“Not agin!” “Sure hope you ain’t startin’ inta whinin’ ‘bout the prompt Kid.” “Hope is the thing with feathers Pal. She wants us ta round up unicorns agin.” “Horse feathers Kid! Thet ain’t what she’s after.” “Well what does she want then? I cain’t keep up, she moves too fast. Shorty’s all over the place.” “Seems pretty grounded ta me, ‘cept fer all her flights a fancy. Look Kid, jist go at yer own pace. You’ll dream up an idea.” “Reckon.” “What’re ya doin’?” “Gonna take a nap with ma head on this here feather pillow. Perchance ta dream.”