Running With Wings

Breathing heavily, he leaned against the cold concrete wall, grateful for the rest, however short it would be. He knew he should keep moving, that they would catch up soon, but it had been so long since he had slept. And right now, the dark greasy pavement looked just as appealing to him as a cushy bed. Tucking his dark, feathered wings close to his body, he slowly slid down the wall, landing with a thud on the ground. With a welcoming sigh, he closed his eyes and felt himself drifting off into the dark. All thoughts of fleeing and survival were wiped from his mind; the only thing left was darkness. Sweet, heavenly darkness. 1

A life like his is not one to envy. The life of any fletcher is not one to envy. Sadly, the lives of these majestic creatures are filled with pain and suffering caused by the greed of mankind. They can be safe nowhere. 2

At first glance, they appear to be humans... at first glance from a blind man. Fletchers, are human in body with one distinctive unmistakable feature that no human has— wings. Gorgeous, full-feathered wings sprout from the shoulder blades of each fletcher at the age of thirteen. Wings that hold a power that no other thing in the world possesses. The power to grant any wish. 3

To take a fletchers wings is to take its life. Unlike humans, who can lose an arm and still live, a fletcher needs its wings and the power they provide it, in order to survive. But this power, to humans, is often irresistible. If in possession of the entire wing of a fletcher, including each and every un-molted feather, one can create a potion. A potion that, if drank, will grant your heart's desire, your one true wish.4

He awoke with a start, a sharp tugging on his left wing rousing him. He jumped up, unfurling his wings; afraid they had caught up with him while he was asleep. But instead of defending himself, he frightened a poor little kitten that had simply been playing with his feathers. Watching the kitten scamper down the alleyway in fright, he was reminded of his predicament. They were still searching for him; he would be stupid to think they gave up. The greed of the human mind is too great to give up the possibility of fulfilling the desire in one's heart. Even if it meant killing another soul.5

But to them, he wasn't a soul. He was a creature, an animal, nothing. Never mind that he could speak to them, that he looked like them but with wings. It didn't matter, he wasn't human, and that was the thought that filled their minds and justified their perusal for his life. 6

Alone is what he was in the world. Forever running from the humans, and forever avoiding his own kind because they feared gathering. Gathering could call the humans attention. His mother and father were killed because of it. Two full-grown fletchers and a child is an easy target for hunters. Thankfully, their wings were marred in the murder, deemed unusable. But this only taught the humans to be more careful as they hunted him. For he was being chased by the same group that stole his childhood by trailing his parents. 7

He heard urgent voices above him and quickly shot a glance upward. A familiar face was peering down at him and calling out to his cronies to hurry up. With an angry, tired sigh he pointed himself to the sky and took off in a flurry of brown plumage. The men would be in their helicopter soon to continue their on-going chase. He was getting tired of it but he knew he could never let them get him. He would continue to run. And if the time came, he would take his own life. To save his wings, and their all mighty power, from the hands of humans.