To Fly
Based on: "Wind Beneath my Wings" by Bette Midler
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Not everyone is born with wings. There are those who remain where they are wanted, rather than to try and fly. For why be anywhere else save where they are needed?
The day was perfect to test out one's own feathers. Sun would have kissed the wings as they spread to the clouds. The sea was calm, and the breeze neither cold nor bothersome, only comforting like a goodnight kiss.
Two young boys sat, enjoying the shade given by their favorite tree. The warm sand was a comfortable and soft under their fingers as they leaned back, each one's gaze fixed on two spots. The young had his blue eyes faced toward the sky, smiling as the clouds' shadows danced over his cheeks. The other, slightly older, did not look above him; he looked out onto the sea.
"You ever wanna fly?" the younger asked, eyes never leaving the wide blue heaven. "I'd like to."
"No, I don't want to fly," the other answered simply. And then he turned from the waves, green eyes resting softly on his friend. "You are always looking up."
"Can't help it. I like the sky."
"If you're always looking up, you can't see ahead of you."
"Guess not," the young one wagered. "Still, I'd like to fly."
The green-eyed one moved his small legs from under him, standing while dusting his black shorts off. He saved one last look to the rolling of blue, still not gazing up. His eyes trailed a large wave before he turned to face the younger boy, whose blue orbs were looking at him full of swimming confusion.
He kneeled next to him, back open and inviting. With a sideways grin, he gestured over his shoulder to point.
"What?" the young one asked.
"You'll fly."
Uncomprehending for a mere moment, the young one drew his eyebrows in. Then a wide-spread smile of joy moved across rosy cheeks. Hopping up in a flurry of sand, the blue-eyed boy clambered up on his friend's shoulders. He laughed when his green-eyed companion stood with little effort. His friend was the strong one, and he was rather small for his age anyway.
"Close your eyes," his friend ordered.
Still smiling, he obeyed. When he felt him grab his legs just above his ankles and then start off at a slow run, the young one laughed again as the cool breeze touched his face. His arms moved of their own accord, spreading out to his sides.
"Open your eyes," he heard.
And when he did, he was met with nothing but an expanse of pure blue. He laughed louder this time, head tilted toward the sky, arms outstretched. The breeze hit him again, and he believed, he truly did believe he was soaring. "I'm flying!"
Encouraged, the older smiled when he heard the sheer happiness. And he didn't hesitate when asked to push himself faster.
And so years passed, just like this. One friend with wings reaching the skies would fly and the other would contently wait on the ground. Years brought these two friends again to that same spot from their memories. It was still sheltered by their favorite tree, offering cool shade and a bed of warm sand.
The younger one approached the other, casually sifting the sand with his boots and grinning, "Still not looking up?"
The older laughed. "Nah, I just prefer what's straight ahead," he turned slightly, now resting his soft green eyes on the other. "But look at you, still flying. Resting your wings a bit?"
"No," the blue-eyed one said with a small shake of his head. "I only fly when I'm with you." He gave the honest answer. He watched as his friend's eyes drew back to his own, swirling in what resembled fear. And he watched as that fear melted into something far warmer.
The older nodded, smiling softly. "I see now why I wasn't born with wings," he said, facing the sea again.
"It's not that you weren't born with any," said the younger coming closer. "It's just that you were born with mine."
No, not everyone is born with wings. But that's why there are those who chose to remain grounded, where they are needed. They are the ones who lift those with no wings or those whose wings lay broken.
The younger would often ask his friend why he was always there to lift him high enough to touch the clouds. His friend would simply say, that's the way it was supposed to be.
Fin
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Author's Note: I recently got very discouraged with my writing, I still am. I wrote this very quickly as a test to see if I thought I 'still had it' enough to continue my other works. It's short, useless, and confusing. Welcome to fanfiction.