Out of all my regrets, that night is not one of them. That night opened a new world for me, one that I can no longer leave. A world that turned me against myself, my mind, and, ultimately, against society.
I had stayed late at school for miscellaneous reasons that I do not even remember now. Luckily, I lived in a house just three miles from school, and it was only seven. I had been home later, so it wasn't much of a big deal.
I stopped at Nymph's Bridge, a small stone bridge that spanned the thinnest part of Aldon's River, which ran around the edge of the city. The bridge was so out of place in this city with its gleaming skyscrapers and neatly paved Streets that many tourists stopped to stare.
But to those of us born and raised in this city, it was sentimental, often the site of romantic dates and proposals. It was also a nice place to watch the city, isolated as it was. The closest building was an old warehouse, five stories tall and dilapidated.
As I watched, a figure stood on the roof, looking out near the edge. By the build, I guessed that it was a man, however, long hair hung over his shoulder, which made me doubt.
At this point, a normal person would have called the police. But that had already started its work on me, and all I felt was envy and jealousy, that that man was in a position that I could never be in.
He started walking, one step at a time. Step. Step. Step.
And I watched, my shirt feeling strange against my back, even though I knew that was impossible. He finally stepped off the ledge, turning so he was head first. His arms were tucked in, and he sped up quickly.
And then they spread. Pure white wings. Three pairs, sprouting from his back. If I were in any state to guess, I would have said they were seven feet each, but I was consumed, and could only watch.
His wings caught the wind, shooting him upwards and letting him glide. He stayed like that for a bit, then he flapped his wings, blowing away stray pieces of paper and causing ripples in the river.
He flew in circles around the warehouse, finally going up into the clouds, which parted. I could see the stars through the gap that he left. Something small and white fluttered down, falling slowly.
I ran towards that spot, catching the feather in my palms. It was pure white and longer than my hand.
I twirled it, staring at the spot where the boy had disappeared.
My wings strained against my shirt, small and deformed.
That was the start.
