One of the most beautiful things about storytelling is that when one story ist told, automatically it multiples into thousands of possibilities, of continuations, of scenarios – all depending on the imagination of the listener. The story exists only in the mental space of the person who receives it – a singular story will never be the same for two different people. And it is as if the story did not exist – as though it was just a soft whisper of creation for the imagination of the listener.
Last week I posted here a story called “Anarê, the boy who unlearned to fly” and the reader Priscila Freitas sent me a beautiful suggestion for the continuation of the story. Priscila’s vision touched me so much that I decided to share it with you all here below. It is as though she had given me a gift with a next chapter that I needed but that could not possibly come from me in that moment.
Happy readying and thank you Priscila!
PS: If you ever have suggestions for next parts of the stories, please send them to me. It is wonderful to receive them. ❤
“In the third second, Nico was silent for a full minute. Had it really been distraction, or just enchantment with the life around? It was not often that Nico could be who he was. Many a time he did not even think about it, because he was happy to be in his role.
The first time Nico flew, a pair of macaws came down from the top of Buritizal to fly with him. He thought he would fly forever, but it was getting heavy, getting too big for the elders or even his equals to hold him down. He never fell. Even before that happened, he realized that it was better to support from below. He did it with a love that could not fit in his chest. It was too good. No child would miss the chance to fly if it were up to him.
Anarê was there on the ground, his knee scraped, a pain in his ribcage, his eyes filled with tears without knowing why. He was looking at Nico. He did not feel anger, just a sense of abandonment. Flying was good, but falling was very difficult. It was thought that Nico would be there forever, but no … a macaw was enough. One second, and he was already there without trusting the landing ever again. Nico and Anarê. In a bond that had to do with everyone in the whole valley.
When the time came, they looked at each other again. Nico knew Anarê still wanted to fly, but now he was afraid. He knew why he was afraid too, even before he fell. Then with the Anarê sitting on the floor, Nico climbed to the top of the hill. He looked intently at Anarê and also at the how high up he was, and also into himself with his whole life passing through his head. He took a deep breath and thought about the macaws of his childhood. All this lasted four seconds, because time sometimes weighs a little more. He opened his arms. The adults flocked down to see …. how could an adult fly? In the fifth second, he released his body. In the fifth second, he was to live the child that one day had been or was still. In the fifth second, he took a tumble so close he could have almost regretted it. But then he saw hope in Anarê. That day they both learned another flight mode. They began to train the landing every day, always together, Nico going first. They conquered the autonomy of flying in their new bond of confidence.”