Little. The little feather, little.

27 Jan

This is a little story about a little feather. This little feather was, well, rather little. Yes, little, I think that’s the best way to describe the little feather. Anyway, moving on, this little feather had lived rather a sheltered life, or as sheltered as a little feather could possibly live. You see, the little feather was, hmm how can I put it? Attached, yes yes, attached to what could be considered rather a little bird. The little bird that our little feather was attached to lived in a little shed at the end of a little garden on the back of a little house. This little bird so happened to be the prize possession of a man named Steve Little. Mr Little, who was what some might call ‘a little man,’ loved this little bird more than anything. More than his wife (who was far from little), more than his children (who had grown up and were little no more) and more than any job he’d worked in. He’d tried his hand at many careers, doing a little bit of this and a little bit of that. But nothing, nay nothing could compare to the enjoyment he got from spending time with his little bird. The little bird however, who if we remember housed our hero ‘the little feather,’ did not as such return the love that it was shown from this little man. Nay, the only thing this little bird loved was the little seeds and little pieces of bread it received. It loved little else, and certainly not the little feather that nestled beneath it’s left wing. That’s not to say it singled out this particular feather, no, no, it just didn’t pay much regard to anything other than the little bits of food the little man gave it. The little feather, being a little feather and not as wise or knowledgeable as some of the more larger feathers that it shared accommodation with, would often be upset that it never received any attention. The larger feathers had at times reassured the little feather that the reason it was never shown any attention by the little bird was due to where it was placed. The little feather had questioned whether it could perhaps move to a place where it would be shown at least a little attention. This had made the larger feathers laugh. Not a little, but a lot. Soon afterwards the larger feathers became rather nasty and teased the little feather, which left the little feather feeling a little lonely. All the little feather wished for was a little bit of attention and love, yet this was not to be. Until one day, a day that bore little importance to anybody but the little feather and the little man, everything changed. The day had started like any other day. It was a little bit cold and a little bit wet, but being a little feather nestled beneath the wing of a little bird who lived in a little hut, it being cold and wet had little relevance or effect. The little man had come out of his little house, walked down his little garden path and opened the door to the little hut. Everything was normal. The little mans wife, who as we established was far from little, had opened a little window of the little house and shouted insults at the little man. She was more than a little jealous of her little husbands love for the little bird. The little man sighed a little. This was far from a new experience for the little man, the little bird and the little feather. It happened often. What did not happen often however, was the little man’s far from little wife poking a little rifle out of the little window and firing. A bang echoed around the little garden and into the little hut. The little bird screeched and soared up into the sky, more than a little scared. The little man shouted, at both his less than little wife and his prized little bird. The little bird fell down as fast as it had risen and smashed into the ground near a little plant pot. The little man screamed and shouted, why he even cried a little as he saw a little bit of blood seeping from a little hole on his prized little bird. The little bird was dead. It was whilst the little bird was falling to its death that the little feather had became, shall we say, unattached? Yes unattached. The little feather had became unattached and floated free from the little bird. To say that the little feather was a little scared would be an understatement and a half. Scrap that, it was at least an understatement and two thirds. Possibly seven eighths. It had never known a life without being attached to the little bird, so as it floated along in a little breeze, it was a little apprehensive as to what the future might hold. After some minutes of floating over some little hedgerows and some little paths it came to a rest on a little boy’s hood. It had inadvertently landed in the little playground of the little school that was a little distance from Mr Little’s house. The little boy shrieked as he felt something brush the back of his neck and grabbed the little feather instinctively. The little feather looked into the little boys eyes and saw that he was a little curious. Whilst the little feather was a little scared, he also felt a little wave of hope. This little boy was giving him the attention that he had craved for so long. The little boy stroked the little feather with his little hands and told another little boy to look at his lovely little feather. The other little boy took the little feather off the little boy gently and stroked it as well. The little feather was delighted. These little boys really knew how to give a little feather a loving stroke. It was a far cry from what it had received from the little bird and the little feather felt truly grateful. A bell rang out and the little boys ran towards their little classroom and sat at their little seats placing the little feather on the little table in front of them. The little boys teacher came into the classroom and asked all the little boys and little girls if they’d had a good lunch break. A chorus of ‘yes, miss’ went around the little classroom from all the little boys and little girls. The little boy who’s hood the little feather was feeling so fortunate enough to land on, raised his little hand in the air, and announced that he’d found a lovely little feather. The little feather swelled with pride and felt truly happy. Finally there was someone who would shower him with the attention and love that he had always desired. The teacher (who was in fact rather little yet looked rather large on account of all the little people around her) came over to the table and took the little feather from the little boys little outstretched hand. ‘These are full of germs’ she said and threw it in a little red bin. As the little feather floated down to lie next to some little paper clippings and the remains of an apple core, he sighed, the life of love and attention was not to be. The little feather had experienced a little of it, and that was to be his fill. He had experienced what he had always desired. The little feather was satisfied. The little feather smiled. The little feather was happy.

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