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Once a very wise person told me this. I won't give his name since I don't even know it this was anything more than a dream.
1998
I stood on my tip toes as I saw all the beautiful birds flapping and squawking in their cages. They all had many colors and were in the from display of the pet shop. It was the local shop and my parents and me were there to buy cat food. I always had thought the birds were beautiful, nestled in this little shop near the main center, and since it was a sunny day their feathers shown in the afternoon light. There was a young man looking at the birds with a sad and quiet look. He seemed to be around teenage years, and he looked like he was rather sickly. His hair was a messy deep black and his skin was unnaturally pale. He was looking at the birds sadly, as if they were missing something.
"What's wrong mister?" I asked in the young voice of a small child. He was silent before saying,
"Why do they keep these birds in cages?"
I cocked my head saying, "Because they are pets for people."
"It is a cruel fate they hold. The birds were given wings to fly. To be able to fly where ever the wind tells them to travel. Is it not wrong to keep them from using their gift? Only birds can fly. Why keep them prisoner to a fate of land living? It is not fair to their fates." He said reaching out a hand and opening one of the bird cages. The bird made no movement to hop out as he said,
"They do not even know why they have them..."
"Hey! You can't be opening the cages!" The attendant of the shop cried out. I looked over from the guy to the angry woman's voice as he said,
"Almost as unfair as being trapped by a fate of death." She was running forward as he said, "It seems I have over stayed my welcome." He waved a hand as the woman stopped. The people stopped the birds stopped. I kept moving and stared at him in awe.
"Who are you?" I asked with wide eyes.
"Call me Raven. Farewell." I blinked and the birds started crying out again as he disappeared. I blinked a few moments already forgetting that he was ever there.
2006
I stretched as I stood up from my painting.
"Finished!" I said with a smile. I'd gotten used to using oils and it'd been over six months since I used good old normal paint. I liked mixing paint with drawing. I smiled at my painting seeing the colorful birds. They were frozen in time. I'd seen the place in a vision, and I'd been waiting for the next art call at my school. Visions were becoming increasingly common. I looked over at the clock and saw that it was around eleven PM. My parents weren't worrying, for once, because I was at school I was home schooled but took track and art at the near by high school. I was in the ninth grade. The school was empty of all, including janitors. The only one there was, me. A messy paint-covered preteen. Who, looked like she belonged in the high school. When I said that I wasn't even a teenager yet they all gaped at me. They were shocked, since in every way I didn't look like a preteen. I looked around the room, and seeing all the other paintings, models, drawings, and all the easels set up. I leaned back on my chair, and since it was more of a stool, like the kind at a bar, I fell right back on the floor.
"Ouch..." I grumbled as I stood up picking up the stool. I could of broken something if the stool wasn't only two feet high. I sighed as I pulled off the huge over sized painting shirt I used. I told everyone who asked, "Earlier in life it was white." It was covered in paint now. I looked in the mirror at my face, hands, and arms. Needless to say, I started scrubbing. After getting the paint off my face, most of it off my arms, and hardly any off my hands, I gave up at my scrubbing and gathered up my stuff. I was always loaning something to someone, so my stuff was scattered across the class room. Pencils, paint brushes, an eraser, and the like.
After getting it all together and flipping the coverings over all the paintings, as the artists themselves forgot, I walked over to my own painting smiling at how it came out. I blinked a moment and next to the small girl that was gazing up at the birds I saw something I didn't paint. There was a Raven perched on one of the cages. I blinked again and it was gone.
"What the..." I muttered rubbing my eyes wondering if I was seeing things from looking at a painting for over six hours.
"That's a beautiful painting."
I whipped around to see who had spoken tensing automatically. I froze seeing, recognizing, but not remembering.
"Who are you?" I demanded trying to take stance for attacking at full output. I took a good look at him and I decided that I could most likely overcome him if he tried anything, without even trying. He was tall, skinny, and looked rather sickly. His hair was messy black and his eyes were the same morbid color. He also wore a black cloak that swept the floor. He was smiling at me kindly and I could feel my body calm. Even if I didn't want to.
"Wouldn't it be nicer if all the birds were flying in the sky though?" He asked pointing to my painting. "Isn't that why they have wings?"
"Who...who are you?" I asked slowly.
"A am a simple shadow. A shadow of a dead man that is still looking for his wings."
"I can see you though...you're standing right in front of me." I said sounding puzzled.
"You are my wings. You are the one who can fly and see."
"I'm far sided in the light. I can only see more than five miles ahead of me unless it's dark." I replied wondering why I was telling him this.
"You can see us shadows. You can only feel them usually though. You are not a normal person." Was his slow and sad reply.
"I...I can't see the dead."
"You can predict them. You can feel them. You are at the Vision Stage now. You can see me. You can hear me. Please, my wings, tell me your new name."
I didn't know what he was talking about and all I could do is answer.
"I...I don't have the name you want."
"You do not remember me? You paint the day I first met you like this, yet you don't remember do you?" He asked sounding sad.
"I'm sorry...you look very familiar but I don't remember you."
He closed his eyes as if he was greatly tired and was hoping that he was going to be able to rest, and was let down.
"When you remember your name call to me."
"I don't remember you. How can I call to you if I don't know your name?" I asked somehow feeling calm.
"I am the shadow waiting to have my wings. You are my wings, when you remember please call to me. I wish to fly as birds to in the sky. I have already died and only wish to fly then sleep. You can be my wings, all you need to do is remember. Farewell." He said as he faded into the air.
I would of called this a dream if I didn't have these two paintings. One of a young girl at a pet shop looking at birds, another of a raven crying tears of blood. A raven that couldn't fly for he was already dead. He was in pain, and couldn't be helped by the one who could help him. He was a dead shadow waiting for his wings to remember. The wings that still can't remember her name.
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