The Reluctant Bird

August 23, 2009
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The ground sped into a blur, the greens of trees blending into the blacks and browns of roofs. The midnight sky streaming by, wind whistling past my ear. Crisp air buffeting my face as I began rising above the clouds. My heart was surging with the exhilaration of a free fall, as I plummeted earthward. Tearing through the atmosphere, I could not regain my composure and return to flight. Seven seconds till impact. The figures growing rapidly as I neared my death.
Close your eyes.
Make a wish.

Consciousness was regained, and I realized my ground. What a terrible nightmare. There was nothing more terrifying on this earth than heights. Most referred to my hallucinations as “dreams.”
Morons. What goes up must come down. And the higher up, the harder the fall. Who could enjoy the heart stopping dangers of plunging downwards? No one in their right mind. Not with greatest tools of torture could you make me change my mind.
And so I sit and wait in my nest, waiting for mother to return with a worm, or a regurgitated grasshopper. Stretching my wings, cleaning my feathers, watching humans pass, what a peaceful life, the one every bird should want. If god intended us to fly, he would’ve given us jumbo jets.

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