Faery Akero could have been free.
Free to fly the clear blue skies of ignorance. When all the taunts got under her skin, she would shed it for feathers, fly alone across the desert for hours, pretend that this was how she was supposed to be.
Riding on the thermals, it was easy to hope that one day, sheÕd look shyly at an object of affection, and have them stare back. Somewhere out there had to be someone who didnÕt shy away at her talon-like hands. DidnÕt spit at her as she walked by, yank at the feathers that had replaced her golden hair of her youth.
She knew highschool was supposed to be hell, but without her wings, she would have ended it a long time ago. It seemed strange, how she embraced the very thing that brought her under societyÕs glare. But there weere things under her skin, things that had been there even before she sprouted feathers. Feelings she couldnÕt control, for all the wrong people.
It happened on her birthday. She was turning 14. In reward for living this long, she skipped school to fly into the desert. She slept there, too, miles away from any civilization.
Was it the burning that woke her? Or the horrible screaming, made even worse when she realized the voice was her own? After what felt like hours, her consiousness swam, and she was swamped with blessful oblivion.
It was dark when she woke. Had it been minutes? Days? Faery had no idea. She felt lighter, though. As if a huge weight had fallen off-
Her shoulders. No odd, double-jointed shoulderblades. No rustle of feathers.
No beautiful tawny wings.
She brought a hand to her head. No feathers. No hair. She was bald. Cold, too, in this desert night. With no wings to bring her back home. So she started to walk, though it was hard to see her way, with the tears stinging her normal, brown eyes.
She was close to collapsing, when she heard the laughter. A couple of her classmates roared up to her on dirtbikes, and she fell to her knees. Maybe- finally- her luck was changing.
But she didnÕt like the looks in her peersÕ eyes. Hungry. Angry.
The first movement was a kick to her shoulder, knocking her onto her backside. When the accusations came, they were slurred and spiteful.
ÒStupid mutie fag!Ó ÒWhatÕs you do to Benny?Ó ÒYou destroyed him, you lesbo slut!Ó
The voices spun together, but her parched throat left her with no voice in defence. Instead, she raised an arm to shield herself, only to have a heeled boot come down on it. She cried out, as the bone broke. After one blow to the back of the hed, though, Faery never made a sound.
The teens never told what happened that day, nor did they explain the dark stains on their clothes that refused to wash out.
But Faery Akero could have been free.