The Tale of Three Hands
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In a village where the rhythm of life danced to the song of the fields, three men found their fates entwined by the cruel hand of destiny. Each was robbed of his left hand by a reaper of the fields.
The first man, seeing the shadow of his misfortune stretch long before him, cried to the heavens of his ruined days. His kin, hearing his lament, surrounded him with gentle sorrows, feeding him and sheltering him. And as he looked upon their pitying eyes, he let his spirit wane, becoming the reflection of their pity and nothing more.
The second man, in his anguish, saw the mark of betrayal by those who had command over the iron beast. He declared war in the courts. His kin, kindled by his anger, breathed fire and fury. Seeing the burning embers in their eyes, his heart was hardened against all—even long after the scales of justice tipped in his favor.
But the third man, whispering to the winds of his internal turmoil, declared, "Though fate has dealt me this blow, I shall rise as a beacon of hope." To his kin, he spoke not of what he had lost, but of the radiant path ahead. In their gaze, he saw not the shadows of self-pity or the inferno of anger, but a deep reverence for the unyielding flame of his spirit. The belief they held in him fueled his heart. With his one hand he planted the food that nourished the people in his village and strummed melodies that moved their souls.
And the winds carried forth the tale: it is not destiny but our own echo that teaches the world how to sing our song.
Dedicated to my brother Jordan Bowditch for showing me how to courageously dances with adversity.