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I soar. High above the Earth, high above the water. High, so high, with my feathered wings coming out of my shoulder-blades. White wings. Huge wings. A monstrosity.
I cannot go to school. I have no friends but the birds. I watch silently from spires and rooftops. Just watch. I have nothing better to do. Flying gets boring.
I don’t get it. Why do I have wings, when everyone else doesn’t? What makes me different? Am I really such a monster that even my parents abandoned me? Do I even have parents? I don’t get it.
And one day, I fly into an alleyway. I see some food. I’m a scavenger, as repulsing as that is to me. But I need to eat.
HE walks into the alleyway. I don’t know why. HE lifts the lid of a dumpster and puts a trash bag in. One of those stretchy trash bags. Oh. That’s why HE came in.
I freeze for a moment. My brain stops working. I can only hope HE doesn’t notice me. I hope HE doesn’t see me the moldy bread in my hand. Hope. Hope. Hope.
Nonetheless, HE turns. Just my luck. HE sees the wings first. Not my blank expression. HIS eyes wander to the bread in my hand. The green bread.
I try to move my wings back, to make them less obvious. But why? HE has already seen them. And an expression of disgust creeps up HIS face.
“What kind of monstrosity are you?” HE asks, spitting as his words come out with pure horror and disgust.
With the blank expression on my face, I spread my wings as much as the encroaching walls will allow and I fly. With the green bread still clutched in my hand.
I fly to a tall spire. My tall spire. The one where I live. The one where I feel. And I throw the bread down and start to cry. I grab my knees, folding into a fetal position and weep. My tears don’t go dry. I keep weeping.
And I wonder. Is there anyone out there to love me? Anyone who will see past the wings? Anyone to realize that I’m not a monster? But HE didn’t. Why should anyone else.
I stay up there for days. Days and days. I get water from the rain. I have a bucket for it. But I don’t get any food. I don’t touch the moldy bread beside my long, golden curls. I just cry and cry. No one loves me. No one ever will.
But it just gets out of hand. Soon, my stomach drowns out my bawls, with its roaring and churning. It looks for food. I’m pretty sure it’s eating me.
I have to go find food. I’ll take anything.
I end up flying over the same alleyway. I didn’t realize where I was going. I feel the tears reach my eyes and the lump in my throat forms as big as a potato…
And HE is there. HE looks sad. HE has a plate of food. I know HE is waiting.
For me, maybe? Should I risk it? Or does he just offer more pain? More tears? More horror, disgust, pain?
I don’t decide. My stomach does. I dive down into the alleyway, arms outstretched for food. I land right next to HIM.
HE is surprised. My first thoughts are that HE wasn’t waiting for me and that HE will just make me cry more.
But HE doesn’t. HE hands me the plate of food. It is beautiful. It has fresh bread, ripe fruit, meat, carrots, cheese. In HIS other hand HE holds a glass with some sort of white liquid. HE hands me the glass, too. The first sign of kindness. Love.
“I’m sorry.” HE says. “You aren’t a monster. You’re an angel.”