The Stories of an Immortal

Flying Free (Story)

I know why I did it. I didn't want to be famous, which is what most people thought. Though I don't know what I expected the long term outcome to be. Forever free? Well, that part definitely didn't work out.

It all started with a dream. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible. It became more than a possibility when I packed up and moved out of the bustling city back to my quiet home town. Most of the people remembered me from my childhood, and saying they weren't pleased to see me was an understatement.

When word got round of what I had planned, half of the responses were that I was crazy, mad and stupid, and the other half was that I was incredibly brave and desperate. Looking back, I think I was probably both.

At the time, I didn't care what they thought or said – I had made up my mind. All hours of the day were dedicated to me perfecting my plan. I stopped eating, I barely slept, but in my mind it was worth it. As long as I could feel free.

Small doubts crawled into my head as the day drew closer. I wasn't sure if my plan was fool proof. But then I heard some of the citizens talking about me, saying how idiotic I was being and that I should have settled down years ago.

That did it. "Screw them", I thought. "I've worked too hard on this project to give up now."

When the day came, I was both stressed and determined. So many different variables could go wrong, but so much could go right! I was ready.

One building in town was ten stories high. It was an office block that was mainly used for storage rather than actual offices. I had measured its height once, checked the roof twice... I was sure this was as good as it would get.

Climbing the steps upwards with my project was terrifying. This was it. It was actually happening. I hauled my package up the ladder and made my way to the edge of the roof. Looking down, the people felt like tiny insignificant ants.

I took my wings out of their bag, their feathery texture tickling my hands. I knew how to put them on safely, I'd been practising for weeks. Slowly I raised one foot over the roof's barrier, then the other. The next thing I did was jump...

My wings worked! It was as if they were controlling the air, allowing me to fly gracefully through the sky. For the first time in my life, I finally felt free.

That feeling only lasted for a few seconds. A strong gust of wind through the left wing off balance, causing them to almost slip away. My hands automatically reached to my back and I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt my wings still there, but I gasped in fear when they came off in my hands.

I was no longer flying, I was falling. Plummeting to my death, with no way out. All I could do was helplessly stare at my landing point – my childhood home.

Time seemed to slow, allowing me space to think. People would be inside there, it was about lunch time so they were probably in the kitchen. Maybe I would miss the house itself, and fall into a tree instead? Maybe I would never hit the ground, just be endlessly falling?

No. The impact was horrific. Half the roof came down, and I landed right on top of the stove. Mainly I remember pain and heat and pain and screams.

When I fully regained consciousness, I was in hospital. Burns covered my broken body. Scars ran deep across my mind. A dead child's blood was on my hands.

It's left me severely restricted. I rarely leave my bed. Memories haunt my sleep, my peace. However, when the night's calm, and my head's in a good place, if I dream hard enough, I can still fly free.