As I fell to the earth, each of the technicolor feathers of my wings flitted off into space.
One. Then two, a clustered three. And, then all at once they seemed to strip from the flesh of my wings and the oxygen of the atmosphere combusted against the barren joints.
Flames ate at the tender flesh, searing the bone and sinew into nothing. Nothing was all that remained once the joints against my back gave way. And the resistance of the wings having kept me somewhat afloat falter. I was falling. I was no longer drifting but instead descending with deafening speed. Gravity was so unkind.
In the beginning, I loved flying. Often racing with my brothers and sisters amongst the celestial bodies. We played tag amongst the stars. We hid on the moon. We laughed. We sang. We created.
Michael, my brother, was a brilliant painter. His brush was what graced the earth with the great northern lights.
“I wanted to paint something that reminded me of your feathers,” He told me. Michael was always like that, praising my wings. Many of the others found them ugly, the way the light of the sun seemed to paint them with all of the colors in god’ s kingdom. They called me arrogant, a narcissist because they were all born the same.
Sheep. I thought Michael was different. Yet, it was his face that I recall. His face curled up into a horrific grimace as he shoved me from our home. Those feathers he claimed to love now
Ash. My feathers different from my siblings, a gift from my father were ash.
I looked up, which was truly below. I saw the blue of the water planet coming closer. The thinnest of greens coming into view as I speed toward it. Humans called them islands. Land surrounded by water on all sides.
To humans water was both friend and enemy. It nourished their bodies, but hid many things from them in its depths. Sharks, for example. Vicious, bloodthirsty, and hungry. They circle their prey, persistence hunters just like the humans who feared them.
I was envious. Of humans, sharks, my siblings. All of them persistence hunters, never giving up until their prey was tuckered out.
I’m so tired, I thought as the island finally seemed like an island. I could see the tree's canopies beginning to take shape. Beyond them, the soft Damascus earth my brother had intended for my grave.
The canopies flew past me, the trunks of the trees, and when my body hit the dirt I let out a scream. I laid there as the earth moved and swallowed me. It was painful, but it would not kill me. Unfortunate for Michael; fortunate for me. I’m so tired. It was a place to rest.The earth covered my wounds feeding my flesh. I would tend to my wounds in the earth, and then I would meet that which my siblings had sworn to serve. Humanity.