/lit/ - Literature

The Griffin

There are few stories told about Griffins. You hear plenty of Dragons, you hear plenty of Orcs or Goblins, but how often does one hear about Griffins? Birds – usually eagles – with the lower bodies of lions or cougars. These were the beasts of the Ancient Days, the lords of the sky and sun. When one saw a Griffin flying, soaring freely through the clouds, he was reminded of his place on the ground, and how some things in the world must always have a proverbial place to keep balance in nature.
But they don’t call them “The Ancient Days” for nothing. And like all things related to that fantastical age of fairies and goblins they stay that way, fantastical – fantasy; not reality; the product of a mother’s tale as she tucks the little ones to bed, or old nursery rhymes to teach the naughty ones to stay in line. Griffins have just about as much credential to be real as the gods in the sky or the devils in the earth – tools of men for their own agendas in a world where men rule, not monsters. But even that is debatable…
They say the pessimists are born from the wombs of disappointed optimists. Lads, who sought a world of adventure, their ideals like capes flapping behind them, seeking to hunt villains to save that world, saw in turn a world full of them – and every man that villain in there eyes. For ideals are lonely things, and are often the vengeful bastards of the ruling ones – always seeking change, always seeking dominance; to see whose ideal is more prominent than the other’s.
But some, like me, seek neither or none. We have ideals too but they are not important. Perhaps we were optimists, too, once. Perhaps we hold some shred of those ideals still. In a perfect world where everyone has a voice, we would, and even if that were true not everyone could speak it well. Griffins are not just the products of fairytales or preachy legends – they’re a stand-in, a word to label someone or something; ideals that soar high in the clouds - reminding you of your little place down on earth.
But like the mighty Griffins before them…

Falling is a quiet thing. And before the end comes; silence shall be it's own Griffin. For I have found one - my own, and all the world will know tommorow - Griffins are the things up on high, indeed.