Lyrics are from A Way Back To Then from the amahzing musical (title of show) (THEY'RE GOING TO BROADWAY!). I don't own anything, except this story. It's basically just like all of my others with a different coat on. Clever, huh? Thanks to Laura for the beta.
FLYING AGAIN
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And there you are:
Right in the middle of what you love
With the craziest of company;
You're having a kick-ass time
And being who you wanted to be in this world.
--
This is your city, your world; you run block after block, feet pounding into concrete, breath coming heavily, arms aching with the effort of holding your pistol for so long. Shots are fired, you duck, crouch behind a parked car – it's shelter; it's not much, bullet pierces the metal and you almost topple to the side in shock.
This is your city; you stand defiantly, holding out your pistol and firing once, twice. The adrenaline makes you dizzy. You blink; stand your ground, fire again. Bullets fly this way and that; you can all but hear them as they slice through the air, warm and damp. The sky is gray with the clouds of an impending downpour. You smile to yourself; you've never had so much fun in your life.
This is your city and this is all you've ever aspired to be. The gold badge on your hip, shining despite the shadow of your vest, is all you've wanted since you were six years old, curly-haired and gap-toothed.
This city, your city, all but screeches to a halt with the words "officer down". You wonder who's shot, before the blood seeps through your shirt and sandwiches between your clothing and your Kevlar vest; warm and damp, a death sentence for sure. You feel yourself falling to the ground. The thud rings in your ears long after you touch down.
This is your city, it surrounds you, it is you, and you it; you know as you slip away. Sister Margaret always used to tell you 'you're New York, sweet child. You are this city.' Sister Margaret thought this city was the most beautiful thing on Earth. Sister Margaret had never left New York State in all her ninety-six years.
This is your city, this is you and you die on its streets as the rain begins to pour.
You're that little girl
with her wings unfurled,
flying again.
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Fin.