Bad Memories

Standing on the bare ground, the wind whipped around my ankles and tugged at the plain brown locks of hair that managed to escape the messy pony-tail. It’s chilling fingers grazed my bare arms as I stared down at the tombstone that sat propped up morbidly in the dry dirt. Flowers adorned many of the graves in this small cemetery, but not a single flower, no carnation or rose, decorated my grave.

In a way that stung, deep, where no blade could reach; despite the fact that I was indeed not dead. Still. You’d think someone would care enough to place flowers there. You know, honor the dead, and all that jazz? I mean, everyone believed me to be dead, I had a grave and everything, yet no flowers. I don’t know why that bothers me so much. It just…does.

After all these years the memories of that day are fresh in my mind. Frequently they play against my eyelids at night, when I should be asleep. Even now, small fragments are there, forever playing inside the darkest corners of my mind. Lurking. Ready to spring forward and drag me under in despair.

No one knew I was alive, nor did they care. My family had moved on after the first year or so of my disappearance. I had no family but myself.

I kneeled down and touched the dry soil of my grave site. I let it sift through my slender fingers, watching it intently for no reason at all. Then I looked up at the sky, the stars that laid against their velvety background like small diamonds reflected in my topaz eyes. My eyes hardened slightly, as the memories tried to push forward and fully take over. I stood up straight again, refusing to allow myself to torment my mind with the memories of the pain of my imprisonment. I refused.

Suddenly the sound of scruffy footsteps came to me, slightly louder then normal in the quiet grave yard. That was my cue to leave. I spent too much time here anyway, so it did not bother me much.

With a sigh I unfurled my wings from my body and stretched. Twelve feet of beautiful snow white feathers. In an ironic way they looked almost angelic. I was far from an angel though, and I knew it. But, hey, who’s to say? I tilted my head left then right, and with a mighty leap and with grace that would have broken a dancer’s heart I leapt into the air. Gravity had no hold on me as I pushed my wings down and back up again. I was flying. Free of gravity and all it’s troubles. If any good had come out of this, it was this. The flying.

In a strange way it was worth it. Worth all the suffering and pain. No regular human would ever experience what it was like to truly be free. To be weightless. To ride the wind; the sky, your ocean to swim in. I felt a small smile tug at the corners of my lips as I left the graveyard and my past behind me. If only temporarily.

((This was inspired by James Patterson’s book series: Maximum Ride. J ))