Flight. Some look up in joy, at seeing another doing what they love. Some look up in anger, at the constant reminder of what they cant do. Some. Dont look at all... Within the clouds, I hide. I know the anger, the sorrow i bring. And I am aware of the joy i bring as well. But anger always washes over, like a wave on a beach, slowly eroding the joy till it is but a wisp of sand in an ocean. So i hide. I regret my wings. I loath them. But i wasnt always like this. I used to be the center of attention. I was the one who people looked up to. I was a star. But then, in the dead of the night, all i loved was cut loose. Five knives. Five blankets. Five Shovels. Now, as i hide in the clouds. I look back to realize that it was my fault. If only i had been faster, i might have saved them. I... no. there was no excuse. It was a mistake. But it was my mistake. I remember. seeing the red staining pink. The silver colliding with yellow. The scream echoing around the hollow wood. Then the two running in fear, i could see them, i could almost reach them, i flew as hard as i could. But two flashes of silver washed them out. Now. I hide. Blamed. Scared. And angry. I reach around and find the rope. Finding it, i wrap my wings, pulling so tight that my wings hurt, and bled. then i jumped. Falling. Some look up in joy, at seeing the one they blamed, hated, fall. Some look up in sadness, seeing someone they loved, do something unthinkable. Some. Were always looking. Waiting. I am innocent. I am guilty. I am gone.
