To Fly With A Broken Wing

It’s hard to fly with a broken wing. Common knowledge. Common sense.

But sometimes you just have to try. Force that wing to work. Convince it that it wants to go up and down and the feathers want to fan out.

It hurts.

The bones rub against bones. With every move, the break becomes worse.

I can’t remember how I broke my wing. All I do remember  is that I was in a situation.

I had to escape.

The only way out was the barred window.

There was enough space. I could slip through the bars easily.

But my right wing hung down in an awkward angle.

It was a long way down.

But I had to escape.

I jumped.

I flew.

If I could make it home, the healers would tend to my injuries and I would be well.

If I could make it home alive.

They saw me escape.

They sent the Flying Guards after me.

The members of the Flying Guard were healthy.

They were well.

They were unhurt and whole.

I didn’t stand a chance.

But I could not surrender.

I would never surrender.

I flew with all of my strength.

The pain made me gasp and brought tears to my eyes.

I wanted to yield.

But if I could make it back to our village, if I could make it through our villages barrier, I would be safe.

I would not yield.

I would never yield.

No matter the pain, I would fly all the way home.

And I would be safe.


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