Wings

Written for prompt: Wings and Flying Wings. So many wings. Brushing, grazing, smacking her face, arms, anything. She wonders what the wings are doing here. She’s floating, bobbing like a lost beach ball in the waves. Birds don’t swim. They fly. She wanted to fly too. They promised her flight. Freedom. Joy. An adventure. Years ago she believed it too. When they were her friends and It was her doorway. Her chance at reaching the clouds. She had learned slowly and painfully the truth. But, while It had become a prison not a doorway, she could still reach the clouds at times. But this time was wrong. She hadn’t wanted to go flying. All these wings didn’t belong here. She wasn’t flying. She couldn’t fly. The eyes were watching. Always watching, waiting for her to slip up. Waiting for her to fly. Someone once told her water could be heaven. Swimming was akin to flying. If she couldn’t fly she could grasp the closest thing. They could stop the flying, but couldn’t stop her from coming close. If only it had been close. It was really nothing like flying. Too cold. Too wet. Too short lived. But she closed her eyes she could pretend. Pretend she had never taken to the sky so she would never have to crash back down to the ground. Feel the flesh being ripped from her body as it rolls across the ground. Gravel imbedding itself until it is unclear where earth stops and person begins. She can pretend that she is whole again. She can pretend she really is flying. Soaring high among the clouds. Not bobbing gently in the waves wondering what the birds are doing. Feeling their wings chaotically around her, beating her more than the air. Harsh caws echo around the beach. Whoever decided gulls have nice calls, relaxing calls, was poorly mistaken. They are pests. Gathering over discarded trash. Picking and pecking. Fighting amongst themselves and coating the docks in their excrement. Smelling foul and stale. It’s unpleasant and unlikable. Rotting fish wafting on the breeze amongst other unmentionables. It’s stomach churning and makes a person wonder why anyone would come here. Why anyone would to it. The answer is simple, it is home. As horrible and undesirable as it is, it is home. Home is where the heart is. Find the heart and get it out of here is the only reason for returning. Gulls fly into the air scattering in all directions as a pained, sorrowful scream tears across the beach.