To go on in an instant, the very second of a life where everything is determined, where a failure is inevitable, and when a victory will accomplish so little, I decided instead to nod my head, shrugged my shoulders, and let the moment wave across the tip of my lips so that I would feel its presence, but not touch it.
I can fly, I said, but I am never going to try it again.
And there was much to be said, because I turned around and everyone around me looked at my general direction and shook their heads. I knew that they were disappointed but I was feeling the same, so it didn’t really matter.
The days and nights went on and saw how everyone around me flew from place to place, from house to house, while I stayed and walked down the paths that had been uncarved and savage for longer than I’ve been alive. It was a disgusting experience to use my feet, but it was freer than having the eyes of expectations upon me, to fly like everyone else, to be in time, to live, and kiss like everyone else.
Another day in which you haven’t flown, in which you haven’t felt the delicacy of the air in your body, I said, but instead, you walk towards seeing nothing, to do nobody, to reflect about what it is you missed.
The more time went on, the more and more the corpses of fliers I found on the road to nowhere. I thought at first that my mind was playing tricks on me, that I was shooting at them whenever I slept and had dreams of ripping their heads off with my own teeth, but nothing ever came to pass. Millions and millions of bodies laid on the way to where I was going, which I didn’t even know where it was, and I had to ignore them all, or I would never be able keep that fire in me: the fire of outliving the people that mocked me.
When one of them fell and was still whimpering and crying, I approached it and touched its angelic face and wondered how it was that I looked, now that I was rotting inside out for not flying.
You were wise, we should have listened to you, we should have walked where you walk, rather than proudly extend ourselves into the air, it is hard to see, it is hard to breathe, and even harder to stay happy, it is a disappointment, I said.
Why do you say that?, the fallen one said as their one last murmur.
It’s what I wish you had said, I said and then it died and I continued my way, surrounded by the rain and drops of the decaying bones of the hundreds, thousands, millions of my brothers and sisters, born of the same mother, who flew, and who are still flying. But I didn’t because I knew that nothing I never did would ever be enough to give me back what I lost.
But after a while, I started to collect the wings that never rotted and ate them with my fangs, savouring them bite by bite, just so I could feel close to the skies that I had abandoned. They had the flavor a life freed and burdened, decadent and majestic, lived, deserted, so close to a heart that I did not have.