Ruffled Feathers

Isellta fastened the buttons above and below his wings. He flapped his wings a couple of times before lying them flat against his back.

He took a deep breath and exhaled as he looked at his reflection.

The black shirt camouflaged his black wings.

A small bit of hope bloomed inside of him.

Maybe if I keep them perfectly still and hold them flat against my back, no one will notice this time.

Maybe I’ll be able to get through this day without any trouble.

He ran his fingers through his blond hair. “Maybe I should fix my hair differently. Or maybe I should just turn into someone else.”

Anyone else.

Isellta turned into the first person he thought of — his father. He flared out his father’s mature wings and marveled at how large and strong they were. They were heavier than his own immature wings. His back muscles were better developed.

And most important of all—-

He folded his father’s large black wings and drew them into his back without any difficulty.

—-no one would ever call him a half-fey.

He pulled them out again.

How long could I get away with this? An hour? Maybe a whole day?

His father’s wings flittered as Isellta thought about his mother.

Momma would be mad if she found out. She would look at me in that way. She would say mean things to me.

Her words would hurt me.

They always hurt me.

He turned back into himself. His face burned as he regarded his reflection.

His immature wings that he couldn’t put away no matter how hard he tried.

His smaller frame.

His narrow shoulders.

The soft edges of his face.

His soft, feather-like hair.

His wings flittered again.

I will never matter to Momma and I know why. It’s because I’m me. I’m just me.

I am nothing like her.

And I am not like Da.

He flattened his wings against his back. “Will I ever matter to anyone?”

December 2019 Writing Prompts

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