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Wings


by lobstrosities

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I am an outcast. My body is that of a normal faerie Buzz, but I lack the most important part of being a Buzz, the wings. Where my wings should be, there is only a slight bump in the skin, as though the wings intended to grow out, and then just stopped.

     But today, this will change. The wind is biting at my face, and the occasional cloud of misty rain slaps against me as I plummet down. I have thrown myself off the edge of Faerieland, and now I see the ground, far below.

     This is not stupidity, though; don’t get me wrong. My sister told me, while grooming her large, beautiful wings, that all Buzz must earn their wings through bravery. "It is the way of the Buzz," she said, thoughtfully, applying blush to the soft edges of her wings. Always the vain one was she, and to such a waste. Her wings were beautiful as they were; the makeup only covered the beauty and replaced it with pale, artificial decoration.

     Bah, she should be happy enough just to have wings, instead of being picked at for being wingless her whole life, like me.

     "How did you get your wings?" I asked, and she smiled.

     "I earned them many years ago. You were only a baby then, a soft little larva squiggling around trying to cause problems for Mom. One day, you got out of your crib, and climbed the railing on the second floor alcove. Mom saw you, but she was on the other side of the room, and couldn’t catch you before you fell off. I was close, though, and threw myself off the railing, catching you as you fell. You landed on top of me, and got away from it, unharmed. As I landed, I broke my arm, and both legs, and was sent to the hospital. As they removed the bandages from my arm and ribs, two small growths were sticking out of my back. Those were my wings, given to me by Fyora for my bravery. Mom was ever so proud; she cried when she saw the pink and purple nubs sticking out of my back."

     Thus goes the legend of our family. We are the closest relation to the grand faeries roaming Faerieland, and like them, we can only become true faeries when we show true bravery; facing danger to help others.

     The wind is howling; I feel I am gaining speed as I fall. Faerieland is high above Neopia, I’ve always known that, but I never knew it was this far down. Surely, being able to do such a thing without being scared must show true bravery, and earn me my wings.

     But doubt, suddenly. True bravery. Is this the same as inflicting danger on yourself without fear? My sister faced danger in order to save me. Is this the same fall as she did, since I set myself in this situation for my wings alone? For a selfish reason?

     My mother HAD told me how she gained her wings, the large, drooping wings of pure gold and purple, shining like the stars themselves when the sun shone down on them.

     That too, had been in her youth. She had fought Turmaculus when he tried to eat a child. Back then she had been a snow Buzz; she had asked the fountain faerie to change her, in rebellion against her parents. As she saw Turmaculus attack the child, she had stepped in front of the child, warning him to leave the child be. Turmaculus had ignored her, and she had done an outrageous thing; she had torn twigs from her own snow-covered body, ignoring the massive pain, and used them as a weapon against Turmaculus.

     Turmaculus had retreated, and as she checked on the child to see if it was unhurt, all the while ignoring the wounds she had inflicted on herself pulling the twigs out, she had felt the wings growing out of her back. The snow had fallen off, and she had regained her beautiful glimmering purple color.

     That too, had been bravery to protect someone else. That must be what grants us our wings; pure bravery, not stupidity like what I had done.

     Fear envelops me, and despite the cold winds and biting drops of icy rain, I sweat. Not from heat, or from exhaustion, but from pure terror. I had flung myself willingly from the edge of Faerieland, thinking I would grow my wings and fly back up. What a foolish thing to do; it was not bravery, it was not courage, it was plain foolishness, and now I shall fall to the ground.

     Panicking thoughts spring at me. What will happen? Will it hurt? Will I live..?

     Of course I wouldn’t live. Sis had broken her arm just jumping down from the alcove to save me. I had jumped down from Faerieland. Surely, I wouldn’t live through something like that.

     Now, I can hear my pulse, beating dully at my temples, and I know what this is. Adrenaline; the magic that spreads through the body in times of crisis, making you stronger. Father explained it to me when I was young, he said he had never felt it, but had read about it in school.

     This is the end, then. In times of great crisis. I will not make it.

     The ground is closer now; I can see trees, lands, and houses. There’s a small village straight below me; I wonder if I will land there.

     I just hope my family will cope with me being gone. My father will, surely. He is a wise, reasonable man; he will know that he still has one child, even if I am no longer there. Mother, though, will be upset. Mother is always upset and cries a lot. I broke one of her decorative plants, it was an accident when I and my sister played tag, but Mom cried over it. She grounded me, and cried some more. Mother always cries. I wonder if she will ever stop crying if I am gone.

     This is all my sister's fault; she almost directly told me to do this.

     The village is closer now; I can see every straw of the roofs, and every strand of grass on the ground. There are people in the streets, walking around, but none of them have seen me yet. I’m almost to the ground now.

     It’s my sister’s fault I’m falling. She was the one who told me to do this. Not directly, but she made it clear enough what I should do.

     I know she’s not to blame; she gave me the suggestion, but I was the one who chose to jump. I just hope my parents know this as well, so they don’t punish her for this. I just hope SHE knows this, so she doesn’t punish herself.

     The houses flash by me as I pass; and people scream in surprise as I nearly hit them. I am not falling anymore; I have my wings. Large silver and purple wings, speckled with pink spots glimmering in the sun as I flap them. They grew at the last minute, and now, I am not falling. I am close enough to the ground to touch it, pick up a flower, and smell the soft smell of the grass, but I am not falling anymore.

     I soar.

The End

 
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