My chest heaves up and down and I inhale with great effort as I stare at the feather in my hand. I then lift my gaze to at least twenty more crates that exist as living tombs of an entire family tree. My family tree. I close my eyes.
I am not trapped
I can get out
I have wings
I am not trapped
I repeat the words over and over as I breathe. Once I feel my heart steady I open my eyes and look at the window from where I came. It’s still there. I stay on my knees for a moment, wondering about the feathers, the golden pill, the golden apple and the funny letters that are so familiar. I am quick to admit to myself that the unknown letters in each crate are the same as the list my mother left and the same as the ones in my skin and even his. I take another deep-steading breath and stand, wa
