The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter One

“He who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.”  -Friedrich Nietzsche 

[ C H A P T E R  O N E ]

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The only freedom is in the sky.

Yes, the sky.

I'll get straight to the point: My name is Aislinn Blake, and I can fly.

I have wings... sometimes. They aren't always flesh and bone and feathers, although it certainly feels that way and I could make them appear if I so desired. Instead, they are more of a tangible energy rather than a physical accessory. Yes, I do need them in order to ride the wind, but it is something I can achieve through simple visualization.

You might think I am schizophrenic. "No one can fly, even if they really did have wings," you might say. You might call me delusional, or tell me it was all a dream, pat me on the head, and give me a lollipop. That is fine. You are entitled to your own opinion, although the consequences of that are not yours to decide. Who knows, I might fly by your house sometime and mess with you. A fifteen-year-old girl can be surprisingly devious.

Perhaps it is better if you don't believe me, though. The more people are aware of my gift, the more I will be sought after. I could end up in a lab or be shot from the sky.

Why am I risking my own demise by writing this, you ask? I'm not sure. For fifteen years, I've closely guarded my secret. I'm growing weary of it, and I want my tale to be told. It grants hope that there are adventures beyond our own narrow-minded worlds. And what are the chances of you finding me? I've used some fake names and sprinkled a few false facts here and there to throw off pursuers. My identity is secure.

I might as well tell you some of my history.

For as long as I can remember, I've felt the sky calling to me. I can even recall some of my first flights. I began experimenting with my wings shortly after learning to walk. Teaching myself how to fly was a lot like learning to ride a bike without any guidance: It came instinctively, but it still took work. I started to jump, then I learned to hover, and then I embarked on longer ventures.

I considered showing my mother, but decided against it. I'd been flying in my yard once when a neighbor walked outside and saw me flitting through the air. She'd later been prescribed medication to prevent hallucinations, but eventually moved away convinced that I was some kind of apparition.

I never did show anyone else. Being intuitive for my age, I thought it would end very badly if I did.

In first grade, I started learning how to make my wings materialize. Rather than being invisible to everyone else, they protruded from my back in a congenital fashion. The wings themselves looked very similar to a falcon's. This allowed me to fly in the open air, wings spread wide causing me to appear as nothing more than a large bird. When I landed, I could fold them in and they would dissolve. The muscles in my chest and shoulders would be sore afterwards, but I adjusted quickly.

As I grew, so did my wings and, in turn, my flying abilities. I learned more tricks and developed an inner GPS of sorts. I was always the lightest girl in school, which was somewhat embarrassing but did wonders for my agility and reflexes. My senses became all the more acute and I had the innate knowledge of a hunting bird. My fingernails grew slightly faster than most people would consider normal, but I trimmed them regularly as "talons" were not attractive. My endurance and recovery rates were extraordinary. My lungs were able to hold and fully utilize more air. I could ascend to the altitudes of the greatest mountain climbers without getting sick or using an oxygen tank, which I attribute to specially-equipped cells. I flew only as high as necessary, however, because I did not know my absolute limit. As I got older, I became less like a human and more like a bird. It unnerved the doctors, but my father convinced them that my good health did not warrant further study.