A Walk In The Park
After ten minutes of stumbling around, pushing through foliage and gracelessly tripping over every available thing that got near my feet, I finally located something I could use.
Besides a new set of balance, I mean, because the feeling of having something (like, say, wings) protruding from your back pulls everything off-kilter. I guess you could say I was unstable. Had I ever been rock-solid in the mental department? I doubt it, and even if I had been I wasn't now. Not after what they'd done.
My mind was churning. I heard things in the dark, things my chemically-warped imagination kept connecting in pretty hideous ways, so that by the time I pelted out of the forest and across a sidewalk I was about ready to blow a gasket.
Caged experiment with a purpose to mutant on the run. I was getting whiplash from all the action.
Heaving a breath, I skittered behind a thick tree, pressing myself up against it. It was so open out here. Room to walk, something I'd never been able to try. Room to run. Room to be seen. Room to be captured and returned to where I was supposed to be. I stared back into the forest, gut aching with dread. The question was, imagined or real?
A sliver of soft orange light fell over the sidewalk and into the undergrowth I'd just torn through. I watched the plants, biting my lip. The brush settled and was still. Another minute: nothing. Not even a breeze stirred the leaves. Safe. No one back there.
The whole place was dark and mostly still. The sound of cars rumbling past somewhere nearby made it impossible to hear if anyone was following me. I looked around nervously, keeping my wings drawn in tight. The muscles complained, but they'd be complaining a lot more if we were seen. I did my best to ignore them. They'd get over it.
Wings. Didn't think I was going to get over it. My mind kept having these little explosions every time I thought about it, every time I registered the brush of feathers against my skin, the muscles controlling them. What kind of twisted people could do such a thing, let alone would…?
Someone had left a lime-green hoodie on a park bench. It was the most vibrant shade I'd ever seen. The thing practically glowed in the dark.
No one was in sight. I made quick debate, shaking with tension and fatigue. I don't know… big wings, lime-green hoodie, big wings, lime-green hoodie…It was basically down to 'stand out' or 'stand out a lot more'.
I decided to go with 'not as bluntly obvious' and pulled it on. I didn't know how long it had been lying there. Long enough to develop a sour smell that made me want to retch. There was something crusty caked on the sleeve, but I didn't dwell on it. I'd seen way, way worse. Take the consistency of my hair, for instance.
The instant the hoodie was in place and tugged down I got really, really claustrophobic. Like, massively so. I wanted to pull that thing off and fling it as far as I could. My wings reflexively strained in panic at the material, hurting me and themselves. It was a terribly restrained feeling. Almost like being back in the bars. Like a premonition…
I clenched a fist. Get a grip. You're out now. Stay out. Stay focused, even if it's something you've never done before.
Well, considering I'd never really done anything before, this was a really open view to have. I sucked in a breath, pulled my wings in until the muscles were about ready to snap with the pain, and strode towards the edge of the park, resigned to the fact that I might as well be walking right back into my cage.