The Boy With Wings

Chapter 1 ~ Red roads and Bright lights

    Far off in the distance a forest full of mystery and wonder stood at the foot of the mountain. Wind blowing through my hair as I prepared for the journey ahead. I was stolen from
and I wanted it back. I am after the Fairy godbrother Ezekiel. He took so much from me. He even took my memory leaving his haunting essence in my soul. I used to be the most powerful sorcerer in the land. I could turn imagination into a reality. I took my shoes off as I felt the earth beneath my bare feet as I squished the mud between my toes. It was cold and calming as my tattered clothes danced in the breeze coming from below. I took a deep breath and...
"Romeo, wake up!"
"What?! Who?! Where am I?" Romeo woke with a start as he looked around. He was in the library as his drool slid down his face. Through his blury eyes he saw a blob that looked like Delilah. "What do you want?" he grunted as he put his glasses on.
"Mom told me to tell you that we are leaving soon."
"Ok thank you."
Delilah walked back to the kid section as she was only 9. She joined my mother, a curvy woman who loved stretchy jeans, flowey shirts, and colorful shoes. I loved my moms smile it made me feel happy and safe. Like I could tell her anything... Even though I absolutely will not, tell her everything.
In absolute silence I sat at the table thumbing through my journal as my knee bounced making my body vibrate. I always felt anxious around others. I am not like other people, social queques have always been really hard for me. I always hated how out of tune I am with people. I can understand them and love them on a deep level, but heaven forbid you need me to read social Queques, then I am screwed! Well, I will say I have gotten a lot better so thats good. I look up as I see several people staring at me. I realized I had been talking out loud. I quickly gathered my things and got up. I went to the back of the library where there was a large bean bag perfect for procrastinating.
    I slumped down in it as I feel my spine relax into the squishy bag. I opened my journal back up and went to the first page.
December 12, 2007
     My grandfather passed away and my mamma decided to get me this jornal to write my feelings. She is helping me write this as I have a lot to say...
The beanbag was really comfortable. I keep getting distracted. I just sat there dozing off as I wandered deeper in my mind...
I sit at the foot of the mountain on a road of red and gold bricks as a dark form looms in the distance. To the right is the thick, deep forest. To the left are the mountains steep and angry. The dark form begins to glow in shades of orange, gold and blue as four large wings unfurl from behind the being. The being keeps coming closer and brighter. I feel a seathing hatred in me, one I don't understand, one that causes me to ignite in a blazing flame that leaps up. The forest begins to burn, The mountain rumbles, and a searing pain stabs my back as ashy grey wings sprout from my back. I collapse as I lose control and feal weak but the calamadies seem to get stronger. The figure is blinding and comes closer unbothered by the scortching heat. The being spreads his four large wings littered with feathers of broze, gold, silver, copper, and other preacious metals that seemed to melt into fiery reds and oranges as he came closer. I did my best to see through the light but I couldn't see him, the earth stopped rumbling as he lifted his hands.
The strange being floated to the ground and with a rumbling voice spoke as if the sky was speaking, "Hear me now, and hear me well." The being stepped forward, searing my eyes making me need to close them. I feel the ground quake as a casm seems to open in front of me, "A boy once broken a man becomes. Spread your wings and fly." The shaking of the earth intensified, "Live your life and stop running. Burn you fool, burn for who you are!"...
I awoke with a start as the beings voice echoed in my head, "Burn..." ." The shaking of the earth intensified, "Live your life and stop running. Burn you fool, burn for who you are." I pick up the journal that had fallen to the wayside. I flipped through some of my pages until I found one of my poems about being lonely and not really having friends.
What a fool am I?
Oh what a fool am I; to think I could be important. For all my life I have been downtrodden by those of an older age. I try to be me, I try to be free, but now you see my world is slowly melting. I try to help for I have a need to be needed, yet the harder I try, the harder I fall. One day I hope to be a star, but for now I say I am so far. I am always here before I'm needed yet rarely am I known. For what is a cruel world where I feel ever alone, and forever so distant. My eyes laiden with tears as time slowly, weakly melts away. For when is it that I feel broken for I have no place among those elder than I. For I who feels small in body, mind, and wit, and get sadder the more I see those of larger stature, wit, and build. For a heart that sorrows with in mine bousum. What a fool am I to fall upon the Idea of being one who was needed. For they thinketh that I am a man that for I can not dance, nor sing, for that I am a man therefore I can not kind, nor be as sensitive as a child. For I am a man I must be strong in wit, and might and bring fear upon the souls of many, That as a man therefore can not bring light upon the souls of others, for they think me to be of a fox. For that I am younger therefore; I am childish and strange. What is the world that I am in that young and old can not coincide as one, and must be classed in that of childish, or old. Those that come with vigor and great pride then are crushed by the hammer of rejection. For what is a world that is as empty as it is full. That is as ugly as it is beautiful. What a world is this that different is Bad and of no good tidings. But for yet there is of those times disbalance, that there I say there is peace. For is this possible that I of small stature may be noticed by those of stars and of scholars. Do I say is it possible that I of all, may be seen as the elder spirit that I know I am. Though of little age but older spirit. That they of talent and vigor speaketh to me, though but a child, yet they speak not to I as a child but as that of their own age. Is it possible that this world is not as apart as I once thought. For here I pray thee, where or where am I not? That this world seemeth to be changing before mine eyes. What is such madness that mine spirit once more, bringeth good tidings. Or I pray thee have walked upon another world, or is it that I, as time flies hath cometh of age to be known s a man? I pray thee is it that I am not a boy but not as of yet, a man. As ounce was said by he of a literate tongue. For what is of this world, for what is of this feeling that I become wise with every wild day that pass. For I pray thee what of this feeling in mine bousum, of joy and of a meaning beyond my knowledge? For I dine and linger with those of elder age, and I am of joy an expression of time and space that oft baffle me. For now I ask thee what be mine purpose. I pray thee am I man or servant, or I do say a guide for those of past and present.