The Avian
Sometimes Jove dreamt of flying, soaring through the window of his little room in Saint Anthony’s in the darkest part of night, over the grounds and bell tower, over the wall, and away to a different life. Sometimes he awoke from these dreams with tears on his cheeks, and sometimes he awoke in a vice of guilt and shame, but he always awoke in his own bed, the little black nubs growing out of his shoulder blades twitching as if they still dreamt.
It was Saturday and Jove had no classes that day, so he waited until Father Simon left the rectory and a young priest he didn’t recognize replaced the older priest before he went inside to make confession.
It was past noon. Jove hadn’t eaten breakfast that day, a self-imposed penance of sorts, and he was bitterly hungry. When fiftee
