Author's Note: One Shotedness. Wrote this up forever ago but I put it up today. Yays! I have accomplished something now...

What It Feels Like To Fly

The sky was red. The sun let off a sickly glow as night broke into day. Below, green grass flourished the lawn of my home which I stood atop of. But there was no reason to remember my surroundings when I did it. I wouldn’t be able to remember after I finished it.

The walkway beneath was concrete. I remember playing there with my dolls when I was younger with the neighbor boy, Jake. Jake died two days, eleven hours, and twenty-four minutes ago. Twenty-five minutes.

No one was up at this time, except the rushing adults who went to work to support their happy families. They wouldn’t notice the serene girl looking down from this high point. I looked to the dark house, three houses down from here. Jake’s parents had closed up from the world after their son had that accident. I feel bad for them.

I knew Cathy and John since I met Jake. I would always go to his house and Cathy, being the loving mother she is or was, would bring in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, cut into four slices and milk. Chocolate for me, white for Jake. Then his father would come home and take us to the nearby park, which we played at for hours. Typical, happy family, they were. I think they blame me for their son’s untimely death. I don’t disagree with that. I know it’s true.

Momma always said I was hopeless and useless. I think she even figured that I would pull something like this off, but she never seemed to care. That’s just how she is; only caring for herself, reluctant to help anyone else. That is my momma, and I still love her, regardless.

Momma never really liked Jake. I think she might even be happy he is gone. That depressed me even more because I loved him which should have been enough for her. So much for the loving and caring mother persona. But she would always say he was too much of a distraction for me which I guess was true. More times than not, I was found skipping chores to go out somewhere with Jake.

Jake. Jake. Never again will I be able to let that simple, one syllable word bounce off my tongue and then slip out my pink lips that he loved so much with the same leisure I once possessed. All self control is lost.

I will never be able to see his handsome, happy face in my mind without seeing his gashed in head, blood trickling down his forehead like tears. His eyes were closed, thank God, because I don’t think I would have been able to stare back at him with his own wide eyed horror reflecting. Instead, I starred back at a dying angel.

Jake said he loved me. Said he’d do anything for me. Said he’d risk death for me, and he did. Except, Death is a much more rapacious foe and does not take his power lightly. The black cloaked demon with the sharp pointed staff in hand as everyone pictures the reaper, visited us that day and did not leave alone. I was not invited.

I stared and I stared and I stared at his pure, solemn face for what seemed like days but paramedics estimated it had only been about thirty minutes. I remembered the people who had called the paramedics call to me in the upturned car, telling me in soothing, calm voices, pitying voices, ‘everything will be okay’. But it wasn’t. It isn’t.

That’s why I am here now, on top of my roof, looking down at my mini version of the world. Ants are, I’m sure, rushing around with their little legs across the ground. Even though I cannot see them, they are there. Like the wind; you know it’s there, but you can’t see it. All there is in its place is this deep void that can’t be fixed. Like most of life I suppose.

Tears streamed down my face as I silently cried. Wind fluttered my long hair, making it whip across my face. I closed my eyes, waiting for the best time to hit so I could be ready for when the time came.

I always wanted to fly. I was always one of those children who dreamed of spreading their arms and taking off into the sky. I was one of those children who tried to fly off the top of the swing set but only succeeded in a broken arm. I got in trouble for that one, and my dreams of taking flight reduced considerably. Until now, that is.

The time was right, I felt it hit me like a ton of bricks, bashing my head in. Almost in the same manner as Jake’s wound had. Only, I would not die from that.

My eyes swelled up tighter as I raised my hands and splayed them to either side of my body. I almost hesitated but Jake’s bloodied form flashed across my darkened vision and then there was no more doubt.

I felt my feet move until they touched nothing. Then, I felt the invisible air wash through me and my imaginary wings. I didn’t open my eyes, too afraid I would want to back out only to not have that choice. My fear of being trapped.

I felt everything in those ten seconds it took to hit the cement. Then nothing.