It’s do or die for Endless Jones: she’s taken a last chance at finding her past and left the only home she’s ever known. This delightful piece by Meryl Stenhouse should ring a true note with any of us that ever felt that we didn’t belong. SY
Endless Jones shifted her grip on the brickwork and very carefully did not look down. The wind tugged at her woollen tunic with icy fingers and whipped dark hair into her eyes, bringing with it the sharp tang of the ocean. She glanced over her left shoulder, towards the east and the high, cold mountains where the Sky Gods came from. Moonlight shone on the bars of the cage she carried on her back.
“Can’t we discuss this in a logical manner?” said the canary from his cage. “Possibly somewhere closer to the ground?”
“No,” said Endless. The howl of marauding wolves and the frantic bleating of sheep drifted up the valley. Endless felt a pang of guilt for abandoning the sheep. But tomorrow was the first day of spring, the day when the Sky Gods would sweep over the valley on their annual cycle, as regular as the seasons. It had to be tonight.
“I mean, I’m all for someone chasing their dreams, but I’m not sure you’ve considered all the consequences—”
“I know what I’m doing, bird. I’ve got a plan.”
“Oh, well, if you’ve got a plan we’re all fine then, aren’t we?”