Easy (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #8)

I hate the way they fly. The way they soar high in the sky, tumbling and twirling through the clouds. I hate them because I’m jealous—I’m willing to admit it. It’s not like it changes anything.

                

I can feel their eyes digging into my back, constantly, every day. Stop it! I want to scream. I’m just like you!

                

But I’m not. I used to be. I used to belong with them, I used to soar with them. But I don’t.

                

Not anymore.

                

Everything I used to love about the wings now angers me. The fluffy feathers that fall from the sky, tickling against my skin on contact. The speed at which young flyers zoom past my head, creating winds that send my hair flying. The white glow of their colour.

                

My parents won’t let me cut my wings off. They hide sharp objects carefully, now, thinking I won’t notice.

                

They’ll get better. Just have patience.

               

Easy for them to say, when they aren’t haunted by dark shadows in their mirrors. Easy for them to say, when their feathers aren’t rough and torn, scratching painfully against their skin. Easy for them to say, when the thing they love most is ripped away from them, with no explanation why.

                

Easy for them to say. They don’t know what it’s like for your wings to fall apart around you, turning from beautiful to hideous in the blink of an eye.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne