Sunday, 20 June 2010

It’s Not Only Angels With Wings


He watches the bird fly away, joy flooding through it as it has freedom at last. Oh, how he longs to be that bird. He glances down and notices, perhaps only for the first time just how thin he is; skin tacked tightly to bone with no muscle between. His heart races as he raises a shaking arm and slips it through the bars, followed by his torso, now skinny enough to do this, finally dragging his legs out behind him. He stands proud, perched on the narrow ledge of the window, pure exhilaration sweeping through him as he spreads his arms and start to laugh. Such power! All for him. Only for him.
Gently, with great deliberation he tips forwards, turning a graceful summersault off the ledge and then he is flying, and it is the most alive anyone has ever felt. He laughs a hollow empty cackle. Laughs as he sees your face swim before his eyes, blurred with tears. Laughs, as he thinks how relieved his parents would be, that they are freed from the burden of him. Laughs, at the bad press this would give the institution. In that moment, he is the bird.
And he died laughing.
He died free.

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