Teach Me How To Swim

2

Anger was better than grief, better than guilt, better than tears was it not?

It was a long pressing question that Marie no longer had the will to solve.

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     A sat in the sand, from which, I still could not build my empire. Staring into the fast horizon shed only little flecks of hope. The sun did not rise and set over the sea for me, it was not made for me, for it was not meant to be, and I could not have it. My cheeks and along the bridge of my nose were a bright color that can only be described as a tone of pink. The sun too was not on my side. How much hatred must I endure till I move past myself?

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     Walking along the hilltop, barefoot, and toes moving within the grass did that I only then realize the lack of comfort that many of my fellow species would feel. Why can I not be the same as them? Walk among them and show that I am not different, a difference in this society worries people. What is so wrong with me? Perhaps I just needed some time away from it, but then, if I manage to get away, my thoughts will take over me, and lead me to a darker mindset than I already find myself in. Is it this difficult for others to move past something broken and long forgotten? Or is it just my usual overthinking tendencies creeping in, even after I've shunned them many times. They refuse to leave me be, let me try and recover the sullied reputation I lost. Instead, they irk me and corrupt my brain with great force, trying to pull me back to the salt water. However, I only grow more irate and in a vast valley of being perpetually vexed.

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     I drew near the edge of a cliff, and from the underside of the cliff gushed a raging waterfall, dropping miles down into the sea below. I peered down, most would have been overwhelmed with the sickening stomach pit of dread and the fear of falling into the great unknown, but I stood idly and watched it fall. From a mindset, it was scary to think those centuries ago; we would be ambushed toward the cliffs and then thrown. Perhaps I understand the resentment of my proposal; perhaps I know why they think me mad, and maybe I know why they were insistent that I gave up. Miles and miles to the drop would surely kill us. I hung my head in a deep shame that I had even considered my scheme; it was a plot inappropriate and most undoubtedly unseen to the others.

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     In the form of torment to those who seek the prize of harpy wings and horns, we were indeed hunted so long ago. They came with guns and large cutting devices, destroyed our wings and sold our horns. Burned huts to the ground and all the nature that surrounded it, children were hidden. But not all could find themselves utterly safe while others were unseen, such as I. They've relied on those continuing with the gift of flight to look after the helpless, the wingless, and the nearly dead. Indeed, you may be safe for a particular amount of time, what happens whenever those still with wings die or happen to try to forfeit their duties? Are we to die? Walking along the coast one day got my head spinning with a thought, we could swim. Yes, the time would be now to act, as we may be running out of just that, but amendments to long-held traditions are not tolerated. Hence, my demise into a world of constant monitoring, and freedom I may never see again.

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    Eventually, I found myself walking away. A bit of uncertainty lay where it should have been replaced with relief, a relief that I had sorted myself out.

Perhaps not entirely, Marie.

Why can I not be ever left alone?

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     My head whipped around back towards the sound of splashing and water hitting rocks, and I felt like it was imitating little whispers. Small whispers specially designed to mock me, and only me. How can this be fair? How can this be fair at all? In deep exasperation, I picked up a rock and hurled it over the waterfall, and stared as I watched it sink. Indeed it did, but to my surprise, slowly. I picked up another, more massive rock, hurled it over, and once again stared. It took longer to sink. I repeated this many times, even in some cases hovering a little too much over the edge. Rocks, typically an object with much weight, sink faster the larger they are. We, at least those with wings, can sink slower. Since the harpies without wings do not have much extra weight, would they sink at all?

Or could we truly figure out a way to do it?