by Erin Ajello
My back is burning with the pain of holding in my wings.
My body is a cage for them, hiding them from a world too ruined to see such beauty.
The world doesn’t deserve to see how perfect they look.
Pure white that cascades down my spine and then spreads out with a flourish.
Wings that are just shorter than I am, though they make me look taller because of where they fall out of my back.
I can’t hold them back for any longer than a few weeks, so once a month I hike up this mountain I’m standing on now.
A mountain far enough away from the nearest town to be considered hidden.
I sweat and stumble on the hike up, but it’s always worth it.
Once I reach the topmost peak, I place my pack by my feet and remove the tank top I wore up here.
The bra I have on doesn’t cover the two slits that are the only outer marks of my wings.
The two slits that are the only scars on my immortal body.
I take a deep breath and shut my eyes and smell the clarity of the air up here.
Then I breathe out.
I do it quickly, and let my wings unfurl.
The bottom tips of them sweep the rocks at my feet, but it feels good to know that they are out at all.
I look up to the sky and notice how cloudy it is today, a rarity around here.
It’s rare, but a sky so densely packed with clouds gives me an opportunity that I don’t pass up.
No one will be able to see me, I think as I stand over the very edge.
I jump off with both feet and fly.
