Birds. Beautiful, graceful.
He wasn't a bird. He couldn't fly away.
He was ten and he was already a failure. To fly, to fall. Is there a difference? What if he fell a long way down? Would it be like flying?
He was a bastard. He was ugly and stupid and a bastard; that's what everyone told him.
He walked along the dark road. He was nothing, a shadow in the dark. He was no one.
He looked up to the stars that were starting to show. He was nothing underneath them.
He would say his life was a fairytale; someone needed to save him from the dragon.
Would he feel like flying if he bled enough? Bleeding, falling, flying; what's the difference?
A goose flew across the moon, wings tipped with silver.
Not tonight. Maybe another.