of torn wings and ambitious hands.

[the first of the ‘of’ series. the only one sans the finale that is a short story and not a poem.]

“there is an art, or rather a knack to flying.

the knack lies in learning how to throw yourself at the ground and miss."

her eyes turned skywards, mimicking the clouds lining the blue expanse of canvas.
white on grey on cobalt on soul, the large, opalesque dream of wings billowing into her thoughts and mind and sanity. pale, pale skin touched grass and melded together as the girl lay face-up to the holder of her heart. a smile graced the rather plain, scarred features of the girl as a feeling of unabashed melancholy settled over her, almost frighteningly happy in its way.

next, she decided staring was enough, and hauled herself up, feeling rather heavy as she was still connected to the ground. she peered around her to look for something to connect her a little closer to the dream of opacitied hues and featherles flight – and then she spotted it! a hillside leading into a cliff over the ocean not too far from her. a sheepish, almost comical grin plastered itself onto too pale skin as she worked her legs into a sprint over the horizon.

finally! she reached her destination, resolve still absolute in her mind. coming closer to the cliff, she noticed the one she called her (almost) lover sitting on the edge, looking out over the deeper blue expanse of beauty. her grin turned to a small, almost shy smile as she padded closer to him and to the edge – to her dream of flight. she plopped down beside him suddenly, but he didn’t seem surprised.

not a word was spoken, nor was a glance spared. both kept to their thoughts, merely enjoying the other’s company and what might be. but then the girl stood, ruining both of the teens’ plans. she even surprised herself as she took a small step closer to the edge, feeling the sunrise come upon her and the morning breeze make her feel more eager, lighter. and then it came.

“i love you, you know.”

she turned and smiled. it told him everything – almost, anyway. it told him of her long-hidden feelings, and now she knew of his, of what might have been. but it was too late. it was too early. it was too much and somehow, from the look in her sky-rivaling blue eyes, he knew the truth and what was going to happen. he smiled back, although he knew the depressing outcome of the morning. but he still vocalized his question.


and as she stood, teetering on the edge of not only the world but of insanity, the boy thought she had never looked more beautiful. he took her hand for a brief second and noticed the fading scars on her too pale skin – then noticed the bags under her eyes and it all finally clicked in harsher than either would have liked.

but then she noticed his same traits, and they shared that smile before she answered his question with a single statement:

“i want to fly.” – and then she did, flinging herself gracefully from the edge.

he waited a few moments, after he heard the crash, before looking sullenly over the edge and seeing her body. for a second he winced and felt sick, but then he returned to normal and smiled a bit. he was wrong – she looked better painted in red. as the sun rose over the small, oceanside town, the boy nodded in content. this was the way they always pictured it – a new day, a new beginning.

after all, she always loved beginnings.

of torn wings and ambitious hands.


West Springfield, United States

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