Over Feathers

-------------------------------------------------------------CHAPTER 1-----------------------------------------------------------------

There was a series of books that I have just recently read about therapy.
Most of the techniques that they recommended that therapists use were disgustingly
common. They were so stereotypical that even a fool who had no understanding of the
basics of psychology could have used them.

But there was one technique which I read about that I have to say seemed very interesting
indeed.

It was using writing to express yourself. With that technique you can express yourself in
ways that you may never have considered possible. By doing that and then reading what
you have written, you may gain some sort of euphony. A truth if you will to your situation.
That, therefore is what has led to me writing this journal about my experiences. However,
this writing well not just serve as a method of therapy… It will also serve as a
documentation. A piece that proves my existence to the world if I am to one day vanish from
it.

But, if my death does not occur, if my world of peace comes into being then this book will
serve another purpose. That purpose will be a constant reminder. It will exist for the sole
purpose of reminding me of what I have gained and lost throughout the many years of my
life. Actually, perhaps that sounds too self-centred. What I meant was that this book will not
just serve as a documentation of my exploits. It will also serve as tribute to those who have
laid down their lives, providing the foundation for the path which is currently hurtling towards
us.

For in this book, I will inscribe the very essence of my tale. My arc from a brilliant boy from a
small village into the man that I have become today. I will talk about those who shaped and
changed my path as well as their ultimate fates.

So, to all those who will read this book, I will say this.

The purpose of this book is not to justify. It is not to deny the many atrocities which I have
committed, for make no mistake, there are many. Rather it is to clarify. It is for me to show
my reasoning, the reasoning which lead me to do as I did. I will not deny my actions, nor will
I try and defend them.

However, despite all my actions, I will not regret what I have done. To do so would
disrespect all those who have fallen or been affected by my actions.

I only ask that from the information embedded into this page that you judge my fairly. That
you judge the ill deeds as well as the good, with the grace of a scholar from Ancient Greece.

So without further delays, let my tale begin.

-------------------------------------------------------------CHAPTER 2-----------------------------------------------------------------

It is odd. Despite my desire to tell my tale, I am not struggling to find the right words to begin it. I do not know what words or phrases

One thing which is common in fairy tales is the phrase which begins the story. “Once upon a time”. While my story is not a fairy tale, by any stretch of the imagination, it is something that could easily use that phrase to begin my story.

After all it seems as if my story began in a different era even though it truly only began a few decades ago.

My ancestors used to be French Aristocrats. However, after the French Revolution, when their kind was being hunted down and killed by revolutionaries, they fled the country and took residence in a foreign land. Eventually the wealth of their ancestors dwindled away to nothing until my parents were left with nothing but a small library in a small village. For it seemed that no matter how much wealth that my family lost, they could not sacrifice the books which they had been collecting for centuries.

Even though the books could have given them wealth beyond their wildest imagination, my family, even my parents would not sell them, despite the poverty and squalled which they lived in. Perhaps it was a matter of pride, their desire to hold onto something of their past of nobility. Or perhaps it was a way to gain power, for as the saying goes, ‘Knowledge is Power”.

Whatever the reason, I am very glad that my parents did not sell their books. For it would mean that I was not raised within that library.

The place where that library was located, the place that I was born and raised was a small village.

When I say small I mean it in every sense of the word. It was a place that was so insignificant that you would be unable to find it on most maps that were published at the time. Nearly all the land owners and business men who were infecting the other portions of the world around us, did not even come close to us. The only business man who I know of that realized our village existed built a small factory from which the adults of the village, forged and constructed objects made out of metal.

But it seemed that was a far as interest went in regards to how the village that I inhabited should develop. As such there was no chance of our town developing into something bigger and grander.

So when I reached an age where I could deduce this, I have to admit, I felt like was a wild dog of some sort, entangled in a vicious trap set by a hunter.

My situation did not seem fair.

For in my village, I was the most one who gained the best results consistently. I was the one who lead the other children, who organised them and helped them to achieve feats that would have been impossible otherwise. I was the one who wrote stories which would make adults and children weep with emotion.

But other than my parents and teachers, no one would be able to see or recognise the brilliance which I possessed. For no one was interested in our village and they would therefore not see my talent.

It would be like depriving the world of Beethoven or Mozart. or perhaps even of the works of Homer and Virgil. Such an idea was a travesty which could not be allowed to occur.

So I set my sights on something else as way to elevate my brilliance to a greater platform. I decide that I needed to head to that place.

A place where the adults whom I lived with seemed to fear as if it was a demon of some sort.

I vowed to go and see the outside world and let my brilliance be known to all.

-------------------------------------------------------------CHAPTER 3-----------------------------------------------------------------

The outside world.

At the time it was only something that I had read in the books which my family had gathered and for centuries. In my boring and small village, reading those books was the equivalent to the young children of today watching television.

For, I believe that in books, one can show their souls to the world. It is a perverse yet beautiful idea. In a book, a person show themselves and his ideologies. They show how they perceive the world and through understanding their perception, ours changes as well.

So in a way, I suppose that a book can hold much in common with a Stand.

Another similarity that a book holds with a Stand is how it has affected my development.
You see, books were the things that showed me that there were places outside the little bubble of my small village. For as I read, worlds and concepts that seemed so alien to me, infected and changed my outside world, in ways that I could not even imagine. So as I continued to read, I felt emotions that I would have never would have imagined myself feeling. As I felt those strange things surge through my body, I felt something that I had never felt before.

Longing.

I desired to go to that strange place and I wished for it so much that it almost felt like it was an acid burning its container. Yet whenever I got close to the outside world, I was always pulled away.

My situation was actually quite similar to another scenario within my village.  Outside of Leon Krum, our village’s wealthiest man, there was fruit. Beautiful, delicious and gloriously shiny fruit. At the market place, it always sold highest price and always had the most beautiful exquisite and divine taste. But, the children of my village, including myself did not want to pay for this fruit. In fact, we could not understand why it could not be shared with the rest of village.

So, all of us children banded and tried to take the fruit from the garden of Leon. However, no matter how much that I or any of the other children tried to reach that fruit, it was always out of our reach. Regardless of the level of complexities our plans had, we could never reach that beautiful fruit of Leon’s.

And like that situation with the fruit, not being able to leave my village was also frustrating. For being the young fool I was, I believed the world to be mine. I was convinced that should I step onto the stage of the world, I would be able to change the world. Certainly, it seemed as though that would be the case at the time. For as I said beforehand, I was considered brilliant among my peers

Naively, I assumed that this would be the same no matter where I went. That the brilliance that I possessed would be recognized wherever I went. Regardless if it were a small town in a country I had never heard of or a city which was a great actor upon the world stage, I would be recognized as being brilliant.

As my longing and desire for the outside world increased, I found myself more and more frustrated by the village.  I believed it to be a stage in my life that I had long since outgrown. Now, instead of a caring environment, it was just something that was restricting me and my progress.

So when I first got the chance I left as fast as I could.

If I knew what would have happened to me and that small village as a result of my leaving, I would have never left my peaceful life.