27 Flight

You spread out your wings. The world shrinks beneath you as the wind carries you up through the clouds to where the sky goes on for ever and ever and ever.

Where the light is everywhere.

And it is bitterly cold.

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Angel

Every night I look down on their houses as they turn out their lights, and wish that my wings had never been clipped.  Sometimes I even wish that he had just let me fall, like the others. Instead of this hiding and clinging to stars.

I am so close to the sky. Sometimes I think that if I could just remember exactly how it was to soar through it, I would be able to again, and I could soar up, up all the way to heaven and then maybe he would…

Maybe he would strike me down,

Maybe clip my wings again.

Maybe he would just destroy me and have done with it.

Perhaps that would be better. To have it over and done with. But, where do angels go when they die?

I cling to my star.

Tornado

Her ankles had grown wings when she entered the forest, and her hair had a life of its own. Both her hair and the branches whipped her, leaving part of her numb, but she had no way of knowing if they were urging her on or trying to stop her. Regardless, her feet floated an inch above the soaked dead leaves of yesteryear.

Most of their dry brothers danced below her and in front of her, but some flew up around her and nested in her hair.

And the tornado neared from behind.

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