The warm wind brushed against my hair; the flare of the sun danced against my wings, turning my outstretched wingspan into a burning emblem of flowing gold. Catching the warm draft, I shot upward like a rocket, a trail of water droplets creating a jet stream under my feet. Feeling like an angel, I swerved downwards out of the draft, banking below a thin layer of clouds, and caught the wind again with my outstretched wings. It was nothing short of spectacular. I could do this all day, I thought. I would tear up the clouds into little layers of mist, throwing shining petals of water towards the ground. I would fly, fly up high past the thin cloud layer, the stars, the moon itself. I would gleam in the face of the shining sun, a singular insignia of freedom, taking to the air and singing with the eagles. Evil used to chase me, battering my wings, my family, my very soul. Blood was not an occasional sight for me; neither was the sight of my own family being torn up before my very eyes. They had called me an experiment. An Avian-human hybrid. A "monster of my own accord". Those 'insults' brushed past me as the wind my feathers. I used to think I was shooting the moon, living on the edge. And I was, but now I was free, free from the havoc of the world. Free from the molten grip of hell itself. I could fly, fly higher than human perception. I flew with my family, flew with the eagles, flew with myself. But now I am free to fly as high as I would ever dream of flying. I am an emblem, as I am a misfit. I am a leader, as I am an outcast. I am a bird, as I am a human.
I am the girl who could fly.