The Strays

E z r a

"The self-infliction of pain is evident in the scars of my once-embedded wings; but can you understand my reasoning? Can you understand me? Please understand me."

- Ezra Gates;

Ezra stood in the mirror.

She stared. And stared. And stared.

She wanted to move, but her reflection paralyzed her- an alien to her own eyes.

Ezra looked at herself- only it was not her.

It couldn't be.

Ezra then finally moved- but only closer to the mirror.

Ezra's eyes shifted- directed at her face.

"Who are you?" She whispered.

A knock on her bedroom door startled Ezra out of her trance.

Once more, she looked at herself. She almost expected her reflection to walk away. But it didn't, it stayed-

Perfect.

Precise.

Pitiful.

Ezra was greeted by her father standing tall and proud when she opened her door.

He carried two tennis rackets, and smiled brightly-

    "What do you say, will you play a game with your old man?"

    Ezra did not reply. For a moment she forgot how.

    "Ez?" His grin faded into a line.

    "I'm sorry," she said finally. "I can't right now."

    Her father studied Ezra's face- carefully; caringly; compassionately.

    And then he smiled. "No worries, I'll ask your mother."

    He turned on his heels, a soft whistle traveling down the hall.

    She watched her father disappear downstairs. She waited to hear her mother's response. She said yes. Guiltily, Ezra shut the door, entering her tragic world once more.

    She walked over to the window, having a clear view of their tennis court. She watched her father and mother saunter, hand in hand, towards the court.

    Hopelessly in love.

    Blissfully happy.

    "One day Ezra," said a familiar voice, behind her. "You will find who you truly are, and it'll be a day like no other."

    Ezra turned and saw the face she had longed to see. It felt like years. It felt like yesterday. Her heart bled, and soon the floor would be dyed crimson. He cupped her cheek.

    "Oh dear," his head tilted, a sorrowful smile playing on his lips.

His eyes averted to outside the window, and Ezra followed. Her parents played joyously. Their smiles are genuine, as is the glisten in each other's eyes.

"To be so in love is a gift not many get to experience," he spoke wisely. Ezra nodded. "But love is love and we love you; whoever you are."

Ezra smiled,

and then cried.

He stood by her side and held her shaking hand. He turned and faced her. She gazed back.

"You are a falling angel, Ezra," he said, his voice just as she remembered. Soft and sincere. "And that is perfectly fine; just don't fall to your end."

"How?" Her voice ran dry.

"Fly," he said joyously as if it were common knowledge to the folk who did not struggle. "No one cut off your wings. It is you who has deemed them unworthy. Close your eyes and believe. Soon we will fly over this suffocating town- you and I, Ezra, just like Peter and Wendy."

Ezra smiled.

"Fly my dear, and you will see, even the falling can be saved. Just don't fall..."

Ezra's smile made her face glow, as she stared deep into his eyes. She wiped away her tears, alas, in doing so, she wiped away him. Her Peter had vanished. Back to Neverland. Back home. She was no Wendy, but she would believe- one day. Someday.

She left the window.

One day she would fly.

But would she soar?

Or like Icarus, would she crash and burn?

Faith and fate,

Both in question.

All Ezra could do was pretend.