Midnight Flights

Chapter 1: Discovery

I swam in an ocean of blues and greys, dove into the layers. I was flying.

Above all else I soared, not thinking, not talking, probably not breathing, just feeling.

It was amazing, the ground miles beneath me as I flew. I didn't know where i was, but did it matter?

The wind blew my hair back and I smiled, laughing as I soared.

This was all I ever wanted, all I ever needed. It was so perfect, I never wanted it to end. The thrill of flying was like the feeling of no other, nothing could compare.

I was happy. For the first time in years I could say I was truly happy.

This was an escape. An escape from my life. From my boring school, fake people, and stupid math tests. An escape from that long dirt road and old tin can of a van.

I never wanted to land. I would fly forever, yes.

What if I landed and could never fly again? That settles it, I'm never going back.

It was amazing, truly amazing.

Then I woke up.

No. No it wasn't a dream. Please tell me it wasn't a dream.

Please no. No no no it couldn't be.

But my eyes on the familiar section of ceiling told me it was.

I tried to go back to sleep, but of course I couldn't. My mind was working too rapidly. I was thinking hard.

What kind of dream was that? That's never happened before. I could control it, I chose what I wanted to do and when. Not like a normal dream where it was just a mini movie screen inside your head. No, it was different.

It was so different, so real. How could it even be?

Just stop. Don't think about it.

I sat up on my bed, looking out my window. It couldn't have been more than an hour since I went to sleep. Maybe my mom was making dinner.

What was for dinner? Let's think about that, not dreams.

I stood and walked to mirror in my room.

I still looked the same. I was the same short girl with her long dark hair and eyes to match.

I wasn't pretty, or at least I had never thought so. I didn't like my freckles, didn't like the way my smile looked.

But the worst was my hair and eyes, simply because they came straight from my dad.

I stepped away, not wanting to look anymore. I couldn't look at my reflection without seeing him.

So I hated it. I hated they way I looked.

I opened the door of my room and steeped into the hallway. The sizzling of a pan came from the kitchen, and Madi's voice quietly echoed through the halls.

"No, I won't go in there!" She whispered.

"You have to!"

"I can't! What if I can't get out?"

"You'll be fine."

I sneaked down the hallway, noiseless as I peeked my head around the comer of our toy room.

She was playing with barbies. If she saw me she'd beg me to play and complain to Mom when I didn't.

She couldn't see me, I wasn't playing barbies.

I crept around to the kitchen, and faintly heard my mom singing. She was a terrible singer.

If she saw me, she'd make me sit by her or help make dinner.

I'd go deaf before dinner was even ready, it wasn't worth it to find out what she was making.

Mom wasn't a very good chef, but it kept us fed. Almost every meal she made included some sort of noodle, but I wasn't really complaining.

Nothing to do here, nothing new going on, might as well go back in my room.

I snuck back in, silently closing the door and sighing. I picked up my blue iPhone 5c and plugged in my headphones.

Putting in my headphones, I started to go to my music app. I put my playlist on shuffle and tucked my phone into my back pocket.

"My lover's got humor.."

I took out one of my old notebooks and a pencil.

"She's the giggle at a funeral.."

I pushed the lead out of the pencil and flipped open my notebook to one of the few empty pages.

"Knows everybody's disapproval.."

A few light strokes on paper broke the cleanliness of the page, but no definite image was on the page.

"I should have worshipped her sooner.."

I didn't know what I was drawing, I almost never did until I was done.

"If the heavens ever did speak.."

My pencil danced around the page, random lines in random places forming nothing yet. It would come together, it always did.

"She's the last true mouthpiece.."

Then I focused on the details of the unknown picture. Small circles here and there, fine lines everywhere.

"Every Sunday's getting more bleak.."

The picture was starting to come together nicely, the lines starting to connect.

"A fresh poison each week.."

I knew what it was. To my horror, I knew what it was.

" 'We were born sick,' you heard them say it..

My church offers no absolute.."

She tells me 'worship in the bedroom..'

The only heaven I'll be sent to..

Is when I'm alone with you..

I was born sick, but I love it..

Command me to be well..

A-men..

A-me-n..

A-a-men..

Take me to church.."

The chorus broke out as I stared in horror at my own work. I started to cry. I stood and threw my notebook across the room. I snapped my pencil in half, throwing the pieces after my notebook.

I slid down against the wall, my hands running through my hair as I started to sob.

It was my dad.

God damn it, it was my dad.