A long long time ago, when gold was not a currency and kings
and queens were kind, children were born with the ability to
fly. The bones of children at the age of two were hollow and
there were growths on their back which later grew to
leathery, light wings.

From that time on - they could fly through the sky - and
that they did.

One day a different child was born - one whose weight was
extraordinarily heavy. His parents, the first time the held
him, their wings slightly enfolding him with warmth, looked
sadly towards the sky and wondered what shall happen.

The boy was loved, no doubt about that, and therefore did
not feel sad when he found out he doesn't and won't have
wings. But as the boy grew, as all boys grew, he found a sad
feeling in his heart which he and his parents took as a
symptom of the obvious lack of wings, not so - as the boy
thought about it, since it bothered him, he realized that he
was happy with his state and that he liked not having wings.
The boy liked looking and feeling the grass, imagining
images in the clouds and even wishfully thinking of flying.
He realized that none of the children had that gift - they
were happy and they had a great gift, but sadly they didn't
have the greatest gift.

The child, who now passed into manhood, decided to converse
with his friend Malachite and meditate upon it.
When Malachite first heard of what the wingless one said he
was appalled. He then soured into the heavens angrily to be
in a quiet peaceful place and contemplate. He found himself
at sea without land as far as the eye could see.

There and then he decided to stay in his spot, and look at
the clouds and sky until he sees an image.
Time passed, his parents worried and cried, the sun kissed
the horizon, clouds darkened and still Malachite stayed.  
Between you and me- one of the problems was that without
imagination there was no curiosity. For example, if we, as
children, saw a cave, we would explore it happily, the
ancient ones with wings, saw the cave, but did not care what
was in it, and therefore, what Malachite did was exceptional
in many ways. Anyway - back to our story.
Nobody heard from Malachite for three days. At the third
day, an old man found him on a patch of grass miles from the
shore, his wings torn - the wounds healed (probably from
being washed constantly by salt water) and strangely,
Malachite was gently stroking the grass while having the
most serene look the old man had ever seen (obviously not
knowing the wingless one).

Two weeks of recuperation later the now-wingless-angel could
talk enough to say that there must be change! That being
without wings is truly better. Realizing that no one
believed him, Malachite and his friend decided to change the
world themselves, but that is a story for another day.

Now I need a bit of rest for my bones ache. Let me out of
the shade of the tree and allow me to rest and feast and
drink... story telling is a hard business.



[Alternate ending: the wingless child tears of Malachite's
wings off in a frenzy and then malachite sees the light]