The Girl with Wings

Chapter Two

-Girl-

I love to fly. I love the feeling of the wind, the feeling of freedom. It is the best thing in the world. 

I hate to fly. I hate the reminder that I am different, the reminder of my old way of life. It is the worst thing in the world. 

I often feel conflicted about how to feel. For the most part, I feel numb, empty, unable to actually feel something significant enough to name. Occasionally, I will feel sad or angry, and very rarely I will feel content. I can't seem to conjure up any feeling other than the want to be able to. 

The hardest part about this numbness is that it is difficult to apply. The animals here are driven by emotion; anger, lust, need, want. I am driven only by necessity; stay alive, protect the forest, don't be seen. 

I think that if I could force myself to feel something, even the worst emotions, I would feel more alive, less like a mindless contraption only operating because nothing in the universe has told it to stop yet. 

 Flying is something I often think about. Why is it that I was given this ability when no other vaguely humanoid creature was? Why is it that the only creatures naturally capable of flight are birds, and why must I be like them? Why are humans so obsessed with this idea of flight? Why are people who are different persecuted? Why can't I just accept all this? 

 Sometimes when I get like this, deep in thought that is, I like to explore. My forest is large, and even in all the moons I have been here, I still have not seen it all. I can never explore for long, I have a job to do, but I can stay away for a few moons. 

 The things I find never cease to amaze me. Every time I go out into the woods, I find something new that the people have created. At first, it was only things like small metal lumps for cooking, then the lumps evolved into personal heating, then cleaning, then buildings, then transportation. In front of my own eyes, the humans have grown resourceful, creating ways to make life easier. They have improved the standard of living, made life not only easier to live but also more fun and efficient.

I know it should not allure me like it does, but I feel that maybe if I learn about the people, one day I can maybe become one. I know this really cannot happen. If I were to reveal myself to a person, I do not know what would happen. While people are great at creating new things for the masses, they are not very good at defining who the masses are. 

As I have seen them grow and create, I have also seen them hurt and destroy. I have seen people persecuted for every difference, people in my forest have chosen to stop living rather than deal with the constant torment over things both concrete or abstract. 

This is why I find humans so strange. They are so quick to forgive those like themselves, but at the slightest transgression of someone not in their group they snap and that person is not to be forgiven or talked to ever again. I think this is a flawed plan.

Through this, the humans have only set themselves up for destruction. They are never going to be able to work together in harmony to accomplish what they need to. I may not involve myself with society, but even I can see that tensions are rising between the groups and eventually something is going to happen where the human race wipes itself out. Then what will become of this planet? 

I don't think I want to live to see that.

There are some good things in my life. I have friends. I have people and animals I will sit with at a distance and talk to, they do not usually respond--- I would be concerned if they did--- but it is nice to have some company sometimes.

I like sitting with the deer. The deer are always quiet and gentle. The deer remind me of home.

They don't remind me of my home the forest. Even though they live here they remind me more of my old home, my village. 

Their large brown eyes remind me of my younger sister. Her eyelashes were just as thick as the deer's and like their young in the spring, her eyes reflected the innocence of her soul. 

Their long graceful legs remind me of my father. He was all long and slender but he moved as though he was always dancing. He ran nimble and rested gentle, as the deer did.

Their spotted backs remind me of the spots that dotted my mother's nose and cheeks. They were darker in the summer but unlike the deer, hers did not fade with age.

I see the way the forest raised me. I see the way I have been made afraid like the deer. Like them, I run at the first sign of danger. I see the way I live change to reflect that of the animal--- a creature that will never accept me as one of their own. 

I do not belong with the humans, I do not belong with the animals. 

I belong to myself. I belong to the forest.