Lacking [Phan]

ilman [edited!]

He preferred to paint still life, though no one could ever seem to grasp what his work really was; his work was far too complex for most of the Avitarians. He covered blank surfaces with towering grey pillars and small machines with wheels. No one knew what these things were, and neither did Dan. The only thing Dan knew was that he dreamed of these things. He dreamed and they all felt so real, he couldn't help but express them and unleash them from his mind.

Allowing all the colors on his pallet to harmonize on paper was the closest Dan ever came to these dream realities in real life. The way the brush caressed the canvas, leaving behind marks of its affection on the white surface, was pure beauty, even if what came out wasn't always clear.

On this particular day, Dan began to sketch out an image that had been tugging at his mind for weeks. The pencil between his left thumb and index finger lightly traced the invisible outlines of children - wingless children - making playthings out of the simplest constructions of metal. One swung skillfully from rung to hanging rung, while another resided frozen in time, high above the ground with child-like hands gripping chains that suspended the seat she sat on. In his head, Dan saw the expressions of pure glee on their faces, the afternoon sun shining brightly across the scene. He could picture the undrawn features of the boy, no larger than a toddler, letting grains of sand slip through his small, stubby fingers.

In the background, Dan saw an animal with four legs, a long face and wagging tail. The unfamiliar creature was captured mid-leap, its long auburn coat shining like copper in the light. Dan sketched a sphere in the friendly beast's jaws, along with a young boy who smiled happily in the distance.

It wasn't often that he added people to his paintings, but for some reason, picturing this scene without life just seemed wrong, sad even. There was just something about the colorful structures that screamed, "Play with me!". The children were needed to complete the piece.

There were only six other kids in Dan's art class: a set of twins that went by the names of Anne and Ari, a small girl named River, the school's head harp player who went by the title of Drake, the art teacher's daughter Clara, and Charlie Skies, one of the most beautiful boys Dan had ever seen.

"I am in so much pain." Drake cried out, dropping his pencil and stretching his fingers. "I don't know how my parents expect me to draw and play my harp in a constant loop with no breaks. I can't take this!"

Because Drake Wingman's live was so fucking hard, right?

"Oh, toughen up, would you?" Anne said, rolling her eyes. "You're one of the most privileged kids in this entire school. Be glad you didn't get the short end of the stick." Dan could feel her gaze painting invisible wings onto his back.

His eyes closed slowly as he allowed fresh air to fill his lungs. Dan was okay, he just needed a bit of convincing. He stayed in this position for the rest of the duration of class, completely still. Once he opened his eyes, he found himself alone in the classroom with Charlie, who didn't seem to even realize he was there. His hair was a hot mess - a literal hot mess – as he yawned and stretched his wings out behind him.

"Charlie," A new voice called from the doorway. Dan's didn't bother looking towards the door, he was much too immersed in cleaning his station and becoming coherent again.

"Phil," Charlie stood up, flapping his wings slightly to stand in almost a mystical way. "I've missed you."

Dan packed away the rest of his brushes into each of their specific pouches and returned his current project to his art rack before glancing at his company. He should have known it was Phil Lester, really. Charlie and Phil hugged in the middle of the classroom, their wings curled in with contentment. They were truly beautiful. Dan stared until he realized he was staring. When he finally was able to tear his gaze away from them, he felt ashamed. He wasn't even supposed to observe those in love; wingless beings were supposedly incapable of love.

Dan had never allowed himself to really stare at Phil for more than five seconds out of the fear of being caught.

He knew this was false, wingless beings being incapable of love. He loved his parents, he loved his art, and he loved his best friend, Bishop. Of course, Bishop was a flying monkey, but he still counted, didn't he? He was Dan's only friend. Dan raised and cared for Bishop since the age of nine, and Bishop returned Dan's kindness with friendship.

Awkwardly, Dan shuffled out of the room, the strap of his bag hung loosely over one shoulder and a stack of books hugged into his chest. He didn't want to interrupt whatever was happening in the now empty classroom. That would just draw more attention to him.

The corridors were mostly empty, a telltale sign that he was probably going to be late for his last class of the day, not that he cared. It was the mandatory "In Flight" class that The Counsel – the leaders in the Avitarian's system of government – had decided was needed to express the importance of physical fitness and wing stretching. None of this pertained to Dan, and maybe he should have been glad, but it was hard to be glad when you've been left out of something for eleven years of schooling. The only good thing Dan had gotten out of the class was the inspiration to paint his mother's favorite painting, "Exclusion in Grey".

He didn't even really know where to go, seeing as though he had already missed the changing period and role call. It seemed pointless for him to even attend his last hour class.

So he left.

Fearing his mother's wrath, he did not head home. Instead, he carried himself to the small koi pond outside of the building that no one seemed to know about. A smooth, stone bench waited for him under the shade of a great tree, not to say all of the trees weren't great, most of them towered up past the sky-high homes of the Avitarians. Dan took a seat on the bench; pulling his legs up to sit in a "crisscross" manner, another thing not many of his classmates were able to do. A warm, gentle breeze blew across Dan, making the corners of his mouth turn up and his eyes shut. It was the sixth month of the year, early in the sixth month, which meant Dan's birthday was soon. He didn't know the exact day, but then again, no one did. A letter notified you at your door congratulating you on another year of life. It was kind of despicable, but Dan couldn't hide his joy for that special day.

Dan imagined being home alone all day, his parents flying off to work in the morning after whispering goodbyes and letting him sleep in past his usual wake-up time. He imagined waking up to the warm scent of brewing honey-tea and fresh berry scones. He imagined popping open the window of his room and climbing up to dangle his legs out of the window, scones and honey-tea in lap. It was to be a good day. Whenever that day came.

All of Dan's blissful thoughts were suddenly halted by a recently heard voice.

"Mind if I sit? There're usually two benches, but one of them seems to have gone missing."