The Girl With the Fist of Feathers

Written by Jessica R. Woehler
Photographed by Christin Gillman
Model: Davi

Listen close, lovers of the light, and know the truth of how darkness flees. For darkness does not shrink away because of what we build up inside, but rather because of what we choose to let go of. A concept simple in statement, perhaps, but far more difficult to put into practice.

There once was a girl who learned firsthand what truly letting go was, and how only in that true release can the depth of darkness be driven out. They called her the girl with the fist of feathers, and this is her story.

We all know of that dark force that can invade the lives of those with the weakest wills, the hardest hearts, or the more sinister souls. It will prey upon anyone it sees potential in, anyone who shows promise of rising up in the Light.

The Dark Force can come crashing through your window at night, shattering glass into the silence of your sleep. It will loom over you with its wings made of ash and make you think of every moment of regret, pain, loss, and sadness that you had ever experienced. It will make you believe every fear, hold true every lie, and give in to every doubt. Everyone who encounters the darkness is marked by scars on their arms. Rarely does it leave anything else. Until it encountered the girl who would come to clutch its feathers.

The Force of Darkness decided to invade her life on the eve of her twenty-first year. It burst into her room just before dawn, in the darkest hour of the night. No one is really sure the form in which Darkness resides, save that it presumably has wings because people hear them beating, although some say that that sound is nothing but the pounding of the victim's own heart. The tactic that the Darkness uses is this: to feed you the lies you believe most until they swallow you whole and snuff out your flame. For the girl with the fist of feathers, it was the blinding belief that she was not enough—fully and completely incapable of being loved for who she was. The belief that the world would have been better off without her. That fateful night when Darkness invaded, it came in a shroud of smoke with thundering wings of soot, covering her in a cloud of ash and abandonment that weighed down her very soul.

She fought against the force, grappling fist to fist with it. The longer they wrestled the more violent the Darkness became with the lies it was feeding the girl. Unworthy. Unlovable. Useless. Ugly. Broken. Bruised. Battered. Bleeding. Failure. Fearful. Forgotten. Fragile.

Slowly the girl began to concede, the physical and emotional turmoil beginning to take its toll. She could feel the invisible force of talons cinched around her wrists, the brutality of the grip singeing the vulnerable, soft skin. Darkness had left its mark. The girl cried out in defeat.

“I am nothing! Why waste your strength on someone who is worthless?” Rumor has it that in that moment, it was the only time that the Darkness has ever stood still long enough to actually look at and take in its victims. And what did the Darkness see, you ask? It saw a girl that had believed its lies more so than anyone else ever had. Usually, the souls that found themselves shrouded in the Darkness just gave up the will to live because it was easier than trying to debunk the deluge of degradation. But this girl had believed the lies so deeply, that it wasn’t that she no longer wished to live, but rather that it felt like she should never have been born to begin with. She wanted to cease to exist, removed from memories and erased from moments.

Darkness leaned in closer to her, covering her completely in its ashen wings, and for the first time, Darkness decided to speak.

“I see your desire to be erased from this earth. I know that you see all your doubts as truth, believing that your value has been reduced to nothing. I do not wish to grant you your desire. No, I wish to see you live with the weight of knowing that you serve no purpose, that no one would miss you, and to see people scoff at the idea of loving you. You will be marked with a fist of my feathers, and everyone who sees you will see only me, Darkness. You will no longer live in the Light.”

The girl felt the talons fall from her wrist and all warmth flee from her flesh and a cold unlike any she had ever known seeped into her muscles and marrow. Something rustled in her fists. She sat up and brought her hands into her lap. They were filled with the ashen quills of that dark beast, the quicks red as blood. Ash fell from her downcast face onto the fresh scars that lined the inner skin of her wrist. She had been broken, and surely there was no more beauty left to be found. Darkness was all she had left.

She clutched the feathers to her chest and stood. Dusted with ash, littered with scars, existing now only in shades of grey. She stepped forward into her life of Darkness.

The years passed slowly for the girl with the fist of feathers. Although she accepted the Darkness, she did not understand it, and she found herself often willing her existence to cease. But Darkness would not relinquish its curse. She remained alive, defined by the feathers because that is all people could see in her. Those around her defined the feathers as sadness, laziness, hopelessness. Others dismissed the feathers as a crutch and simply walked away from her. Those were the people the girl found easy to navigate. She simply let them walk away; it was advantageous to feeling less alive, more numb. It was the people who tried to take the feathers from her that gave her the true wars to wage over her presence on this earth. The souls who claimed to see value past the Darkness, who has the audacity to deem her as valuable. Those were the people who the girl with the fist of feathers fought hardest against. Until one fateful fireside moment, seven years later.

The girl with the fist of feathers found herself huddled around a fire with eight other souls. These souls had wormed their way into her numbed exterior and saw past the feathers that she clung so dearly to. She did not understand why. Nor did she feel the warmth of the flame that licked up towards the night sky. But still, she sat with them, convincing herself she was but a ghost in their presence, making her free to slip away as soon as she became a burden. A man with long dark hair gazed at her through the embers. The girl with the fist of feathers looked away. It was not comfortable to feel seen.

“Can I hold your feathers?” asked the man with dark hair and even darker eyes. The girl tightened her grip on the quills she refused to relinquish.

“No. Without them I do not know who I am. With them, I know that I am unlovable, and a grim definition is better than no definition at all.” The girl stood to leave; there was no point in being near the flames if she could not enjoy their warmth. No point to existing as a ghost if these people insisted on seeing her. A tall woman stood too.

“Who defined you as unlovable?” she asked.

“The Darkness,” replied the girl, the well-worn answer familiar to her lips.

“Is the Darkness truth?” pressed the tall woman who now stood at the girl's side.

“The truth I believe, yes. Its definition gives me something to hide behind. Better to be numb to a truth than burned by a lie.” The girl with the fist of feathers turned to go. A hand gripped her arm. Her flesh scattered with goosebumps. The Darkness had been the last thing to touch her like that, and it had left the ugliest of scars. The girl braced for her skin to once again be singed. A man with playful hazel eyes turned her around.

“We want to help you carry the feathers. We see you.” The man was gentle and the girl wanted to believe him. But fear ran rampant through her thoughts, and still, she clutched her quills close. The man with dark hair stood too, the tall woman and the two men now encircling her as the others watched. The man with dark hair spoke.

“I used to have stones. Nine of them, tied around my neck. They were my identity, just like your feathers are to you. They grew so heavy that one day I gave in and let them drag me to the bottom of a river. But someone saw what had happened and came and cut me loose. When I reached the surface I took my first deep breath in years. The person who helped hadn’t seen my stones, they had simply seen a person in need. Not everyone is blinded by the darkness. Some of us still know how to find the Light.” The man with long hair spoke with a gentleness that the girl had not witnessed before.

“I miss the Light,” whispered the girl as loneliness slipped from her eyes and down her cheek. “But I know I do not deserve it. This world would be better off if I was not in it.”

“That's not true.” said the tall woman with a force that made the Darkness in the girl tremble. “You are valued. You are needed. You are loved. You believed the Darkness. Why not take a chance and try believing us, too.” The man with hazel eyes held out his hand. The same hand that had been warm, a touch that had failed to burn her.

Something stirred within the girl. For the first time in seven years, she felt herself finally feeling—the ever so small spark of hope crackled to life inside her. The man had lost his stones and he was okay. These people claimed to see her, value her. The truth she carried was heavy. Their truth seemed to give purpose, joy, light. Light. Was she brave enough to turn away from the Darkness that had grown so familiar? The girl with a fist of feathers drew a deep breath.

“What if I give you my feathers and the Darkness swallows you? That would be a guilt I could not bear.”

“You will not have to bear it. One single feather does not have the power to snuff out our Light. We want to share our Light with you by walking with you through your darkness,” the man with hazel eyes continued to hold out his hand, and now all eight souls had joined and were reaching out to her too. The girl with the fist of feathers wanted to flee from their gaze, not because she felt unsafe but because she had never felt so cared for. They wanted to share their light by taking her darkness and that didn’t make sense because who has that much grace? The girl began to cry. Emotions were flooding over her after seven years of numbing Darkness.

Ever so slowly she placed a feather in the hand of the man with hazel eyes. It sparked to life, illuminating red and disappearing in a whisper of smoke. The girl met the hazel gaze and her tears turned to laughter for the briefest of moments. Light shines in the darkness, and the Darkness will not overcome it. She was beginning to understand the truth.

Next a feather for the dark-haired man. Then the tall woman. Each outstretched hand was given a quill that ignited with light before the glimmering red gave way to smoke. The girl stood with one feather left. She knew what she had to do.

In a quiet act of bravery, the girl freed her fist of the final feather. It fluttered briefly before it ignited into a light so bold, brilliant, beautiful. And then it was gone, leaving nothing but stray bits of ash flying away in the wind. The girl gently smiled. Darkness no longer held her. Light had had the final say. Beauty from the ashes.