His feathers were old and dull. Many of them had fallen out leaving his dry pink skin exposed. His fiery tail was just a memory, little more than embers. He clacked his beak, his voice was so tired. There were no more songs to sing.

The fire consumed him. Devouring every inch of his flesh, turning it to ash.

The egg hatched from the embers. A new fresh life. Tiny, but shining brightly. Ruby feathers fluffed up along side orange and yellow down. Sharp beak and new claws on his feet. Sunlight reflected off the shining feathers. A quiet call into the ashes, and the newborn found his voice singing songs that belonged to his species alone. He curled up in the warmth of the ashes the answering calls were of hope.


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Writing short stories and flash pieces.

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