At the beginning I didn’t fly, or maybe I couldn’t yet.
I was in an unfamiliar house. It was large and unclean and felt like the inside of a sock worn too many days in a row. It was morning. There were guys everywhere, hovering in groups and murmuring to each other, mulling about slowly but with purpose. I got the distinct impression that I was in the headquarters of some sort of secret operation, lazy and slobbish but definitely nefarious. I had a feeling I’d been there all night. There were mattresses in corners of the rooms, dark blue sheets rumpled and tired-looking like the house, like the people.
I knew I had to get out before anyone noticed me. I didn’t care what had happened to me, or what was happening there, I just needed to leave. I carefully made my way through the throng of people and then out to where my car was parked, only to realize I didn’t have the keys. I knew they must be inside the house so I went back in to where I had been and found them half buried on a counter. I grabbed them and turned around to leave. Everyone noticed me this time, running out with my keys jangling, sharp and bright like a signal flare. They noticed me and they followed me.
I made it to my car and started to drive away, but they were close behind and I couldn’t go fast enough so I jumped out. That’s when I took to the sky. I was in the air and soaring, higher, farther away from them. I wasn’t human or any other animal; I wasn’t anything but flight. My pursuers were behind me and below me and I didn’t care about them anymore. I wasn’t thinking about escape. I was flying toward something that made me forget what I was fleeing. I didn’t know what it was or if I could get to it, but I knew it was there and that I had to try.
But I was uncertain. I dropped to the ledge of a building and clung to the edge of the roof. I couldn’t fly anymore. I couldn’t go any further, couldn’t reach what had brought me this far. I wasn’t trapped anymore but I wasn’t free. I had lost my flight and now all I was afraid of was falling.