The White Feather

Once upon a time, three ravens woke up in shock with a white feather on their back. Seeing how they were now strangely dressed up, they wondered if it was not an attack. The first one, too afraid of taunts and jeers, did not go out of its nest anymore and from starvation, it perished, with tears, cursing its awful fate in a last roar. The second one refused to be bizarre. It picked up the feather out of its plumes. It finished its life crippled with a scar, lone, away from the crows who have no dooms. The third bird bore its characteristic and showed the white feather on its black spine. It endured waves of laughter and critics. It died honored and buried in a shrine. A different ability is just a difference. Not easy, it's certain. But it should not arouse any mistrust. Talents exist in spite of a burden.