Every day, when I hop onto the morning bus and go to sit with my friends, they always ask me the same question: why the large bags under your eyes? I always smile back. Would they believe me if I told them? Surely.
My eyes do not shut when the night lays over us like a blanket. I wait a few hours, peeking out through my own warmth as the world around me grows more silent. And soon, the only sound that could be echoed in my hallway was the pitter patter of my feet as they carried me through the cold house. I reached my living room and unlocked the ranch slider before stepping out into the cooler air of the night.
I heard the rustle of the trees and felt the dark shield me from anything else’s sight. It was a warm and simple feeling, being shrouded but protected by something so scary to others. Nothing is at all trivial. Everything is in place.
Despite being left in the freezing cold I rise slowly off the ground, feeling the flutter of what’s carrying me off into the night sky. My body is flooded with warmth as I descend into freedom for tonight, blasting off as I feel the wind beneath my wings blow more and more hair out of my face.
I pick up pace to keep the cold from flowing through my veins as my neighbourhood below gains more and more distance. I always feel like a god—being high above everyone else when they are at their most vulnerable, gives you that feeling. An array of streetlights are the only thing lighting my way down below, but above me—fireflies stuck to the sky. My wings beat and propel me upwards to meet them. I reach my hand out, the stars hiding behind my shadow as if to tease me; we’re just beyond your reach.
It’s as if time had stopped. I drift in the air, wings not fighting to keep me afloat. Then the wind blows a strand of my hair out of my face.
The gentle breeze catches me as I float along with it. I turn down. No streetlights to now illuminate my way. I look beyond the horizon—no other neighbourhood seems to be awake. No shouting from the houses. Everyone’s tucked in, hopefully dreaming. The quiet allows me to slip away from the little corner of my street and follow my usual route to school, this time blazing down the empty streets just high enough to not touch the families.
I flip and roll just to help myself think—about anything, really. You get lost in it. You’d get lost in anything if you choose to flip three times in a row. Even when my head starts to pound and I briefly forget which way is up or down; my wings continue to carry my body for as long as I’m not too deep in thought.
They are my guide for each night, taking me wherever I need to go. I fly deeper into the heart of town and eventually land on the motorway, where a single car is zooming down the still road. Its motor could be heard all the way up here, swallowing up the sounds of my own wing beats.
I smirk, accepting the challenge.
And with that, I darted right after the car—leaving the gentle breeze behind me. The car must’ve felt the atmosphere shift and it sped up, the engine revving just to spite me. With no other cars in its wake, it pulled some turns that almost threw me into the side of the building. I pushed off and almost came head to head with the driver. I pulled back enough to let him speed off by himself.
He had won.
The car had led me to the city, one of my favourite places to be at night even when walking down on the streets instead of flying above them.
Of course, the city still had its lights on. You can’t wait for a city to go to sleep, otherwise you’d be awake till morning and beyond. Flying under a bridge and getting a quick glance at a billboard, the light almost blinded me—and worse, it almost made me sleepy. I shook the feeling off and descended higher into the air, swirling around a large office building.
I’d stay there for a couple of hours before I flew home, trying to beat the horizon. A last final race to burn off some more energy.
I crept back inside after shutting the ranch slider behind me and practically leaped onto my bed. It was a school morning now. So I put on the most amount of makeup to hide my eye bags and now I sit on the bus—friends still noticing the tired droop of my face.
I asked if they wanted the truth or not. Of course, they picked the truth.
Anonymous
