Upon The Broken Wings Of Hope

You begin your life when you realize that you have to let go to live. You have to face the music, and spread your wings. Become the sky that you seem to be so trapped beneath, and breathe in the realization that you're holding yourself back. Let yourself free fall into oblivion until you remember nothing, recognize no one, and forget why you fell in the first place.

There are many things people don't know about me. Things I don't let them see. For the latter, maybe it's better that way. If it isn't, then sue me for being wrong. We all make mistakes. We are all human. Well, not me... Funny story actually...

I grew up in the slums of New York City, going from home to home, parent to parent. Like I was some plague they kept trading off once they realized it wasn't them; it was me: I was the problem. My last home was the best one the system ever put me into. I loved that woman with all my heart. And she loved me, even after I got a needle shoved through my face and stuck a ring through the center of my bottom lip. Risqué fashion statements weren't 'in' when I was sixteen like they are now. Like how everyone broadcasts the most important parts of their lives on YouTube; Its fun watching them squirm. Now that I look back on it, it was probably fun watching me squirm, too. But it sure wasn't fun being in the middle of it, by any means.

The night before it all happened, my world that seemed so solid, so complete, crumbled around me; leaving me stranded. I cried so hard that night, if I dig deep enough, I can still feel the hole that the pain drilled into my heart. My best friend Seth, had finally met his demise to the hand of cancer. I remember visiting him in the hospital after chemo treatments. At first he was upbeat, cheerful, fatigued nonetheless, but he did okay. As the treatments progressed, he seemed to be getting weaker. But no matter what, he still kept that glint of hope in his eyes, always. I would bring my guitar and sing him songs once he couldn't play, or sing along with me anymore.

And now my only friend in the whole world was gone.

When I went to school the next morning, word of Seth's death had spread like wildfire throughout campus. Like those people gave a shit. Sometimes I could swear that those kids found shit out just to torment me.

By the middle of first period I was a mess. My back had been aching terribly the night before. I distinctly remember curling into the fetal position, after taking some strong pain meds, and falling into dreamless; drug induced sleep, until my alarm heralded me to wakefulness.

Now, here I was, in the middle of class, with a terribly aching back, and a broken heart. Hell, my heart was beyond broken. It was non-existent. I could feel the muscles above my shoulder blades writhe. Damn, it hurt like hell. I was grinding my teeth so hard a few kids looked over at me; but turned away. Suddenly the pain ripped blindingly through my back, as my vision swam before me, I gripped onto my desk for support. I could hear a vicious tear of flesh; as whatever was causing me pain decided to come out through my back, to wreak havoc on the rest of the world.

The last thing I heard was a collective gasp from my fellow students, and I fell out of my desk and hit the floor, unconscious.

Apparently the whole class gathered around me, but no one bothered to pick me up, shake me to see if I was okay. That's because this seemingly average teenage boy, (Given, my hair was naturally white.) had a pair of ebony feathered wings protruding out of his back. Way to initiate the shock factor.

So the school called my mom, and she came and got me, brought me home, and lied me down on my bed. They had tried to call the hospital, but it's not like they were trained in taking care of winged...Freaks, or whatever.

When I wake up, I realize I am no longer in class, that I'm home, in my bed, and also shirtless, a little strange, no?

I roll over to see my mom watching over me, having pulled my computer chair over so she could keep me company while I slept.

"What happened? Why am I home?" I asked groggily, rubbing my eyes and putting my thick, black framed square rimmed glasses on.

I don't think I'll ever forget the look my mother had in her eyes.

"My beautiful boy," She wept. "You have wings..."

"Wait, I have what?" Now I'm thinking: Either I'm dreaming, or my mom has seriously lost it.

She says nothing, so I get up to check this out in the mirror for myself. I turn around, and to my amazement, I have two ebony wings tattooed on my shoulder blades.

"They're just tattoos, mom," I say flatly. "Nothing special." Tattoos I didn't even get scarred into my skin, mind you. It was like they just appeared there...

She shakes her head frantically, telling me that I had wings, that I HAVE them, she just doesn't know how it works.

So in an attempt to believe her, I close my eyes and focus, imagining my wings becoming palpable. I feel the muscles writhe above my shoulder blades and my tattooed wings rip through my flesh; becoming real. I cry out in pain, the wounds created by the wings instantaneously closing. I look over my shoulder and see my wings for the first time.

I must admit, I was in quite a state of shock. I looked back to my mother with a nervous smile, which was instantly wiped away when I saw the look in her eyes. The same unsettling gaze as before.

"I can't have you here," She begins in a sudden panic, turning off the lights so no one can see.

"Mom," I say softly, although I don't think she really hears much at this point, she's freaking out so badly.

"You're a freak!" She cries hysterically, "And now the whole damned city knows I have you for a son! GET OUT!"

By this time, she's chucking things at me from across the room, plates, lamps, anything she can get her hands on. Meanwhile, I'm trying my damndest not to cry.

"Mom, please." I manage to choke through my tears. In the past twenty four hours I had gone through so much grief, and now this?

Once she calmed down, she went back into her bedroom, but I could hear her sobbing all night long; making it impossible to sleep. So I took it upon myself to ridden my mother of her burden, her freak for a son.

The last thing I remember is standing on my windowsill, looking out over the brilliant jewel that was Manhattan, and soaring into the night. It wasn't so easy to fly. I fell quite a few times into cars before I kind of got the hang of it. Flight would become something I would know all too well after about a year of constant running. If my mother ever reads this, I hope she knows I love her, even though she probably denies my mere existence.

You begin your life when you realize that you have to let go to live. You have to face the music, and spread your wings. Become the sky that you seem to be so trapped beneath, and breathe in the realization that you're holding yourself back. Let yourself free fall into oblivion until you remember nothing, recognize no one, and forget why you fell in the first place.