#8. Wings

When we got our wings, we flew to the eternal blue heavens. We floated above trees, diving, chasing birds. We flew through clouds, playing hide and seek in the dazzling white fog. We emerged wet and lounged inches above them, as if we lay on these white puffs like emperors after a feast. We bathed in the sun’s warm rays. We cooled by flying higher, and ad ice ball fights with the clouds higher up. We flew back down again and rearranged the soft wispy clouds into shapes to delight those glancing up, as we’d once been delighted.

We were free. We felt, nay, we knew, nothing could disrupt our bliss. We flew in formation, delighting in the rain, dancing on air, catching the droplets in our mouths. When rain stopped falling we thanked the sun for creating such beauty. We delighted inthe shining, sparkling water drops still on us. We shoot them off and laughed to see a thousand bright jewels falling down. We chased the rainbow, and slid down seven at a time, tumbling into water, earth, rock.

We were free. Dreamers. And happy.


  1. Complete and absolute coincidence that my eighth story is also about flying, kind of. And you numbered it wrong.

    And this was so simply positive. hah. How… unusual =P

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