Her name was faith. She spelled it with a lower case "f."
Everything about her screamed lack of Faith, capital F, especially Faith in herself.
She would look around at the other faces in the room before meekly answering any questions. Whenever she spoke, she hoped mightily she had said the right thing. She hemmed and hawed and bit her fingernails whenever she was put on the spot. She did not have a mind of her own. She never smiled. Never.
She tried not to speak at all there for a while. The schools demanded that her parents send her to a shrink before she could return for another day of government indoctrination.
This was heaven for her! She went to the shrink and sat there, mute, day after day after day. She learned how to slow her breathing, to go into herself, to stop the constant flow of self-effacing thoughts in her head.
On that last day, a murder of crows sat on a line outside the window, and stared in at her. She smiled. The shrink then said the first and last words he ever said to her, breaking a months long and healing silence.
I see you've seen the crows. What do you think?
"I am free. I can fly. I know what Love is. And I am never going back to school."
This is my entry to 
This is kind of about me, kind of not about me, all wrapped up in the mysteries of us all.
