Untethered

During a staring contest at a bus stop in the wintertime, there are things you can't help noticing. Like the way the cold air blowing off the little frozen pond behind the stop feels like tiny needles. Make sure you find a staring contest opponent like mine-- he’s got steel blue eyes with little flecks of silver in them. Fascinating. Much better than staring at the overflowing trash can. Instead of wondering what teetering piles of human refuse lurk within the glossy black cylinder, I examine the freckle right under his left eye. When the bus driver is running especially late, I even have time to speculate how his nose got that little crook in it- was it broken in a fight, or did he fall on his face? Tough or clumsy? I was about to ask him when a loud crack and a shrill scream catch our attention.

Just so you know, he looked away first.

My heart drops, and the frosty air bites my neck and face as I turn to search for the source of the sound. My eyes find a slight figure collapsed on the bank of the pond in what looks like the epicenter of an explosion. On one side, bloodstained snow is mixed with grass and dirt, on the other, the thick layer of ice covering the pond is spiderwebbed with cracks. Before I can decide to run towards the person or away, they rise to their hands and knees and lift their head to scream again. The scream is piercing, but not as piercing as the red sun glinting off of their silvery eyes and fanged grimace.

The shadow is on top of me before I can form another thought. My head cracks on the frozen pavement, but I don’t feel it. All I feel are talons digging into my cheap red parka. The creature, dripping with pond water, leans into me and inhales my terror. The talons dig into my chest, and my entire body burns. I close my eyes so I don’t have to see it end me.

Suddenly, the weight is gone and I open my eyes to see what my judgement day will bring me, but all I see are steel blue eyes with little flecks of silver in them. He’s asking me if I can walk, but before I can answer, I am writhing on bloodstained pavement. He pulls the shreds of my coat off of my body, but all I can feel is fire in my spine. The taloned creature is forgotten. All that exists for me in this moment is this pain and I wish I could shatter like ice. I attempt to crawl to my hands and feet, but am obstructed by what seems to be a warm, leathery sheet with strange seams all around.

I'm enthralled by it. Thin and translucent, it almost glows in the winter sunset. The veins running through are thin, dark seams painted by a meticulous hand. The pain is gone now, and the cold is an afterthought. I look down at my hands and they are covered in shadow.

Steel blue eyes with silver flecks widen, and I take off running. Past the tree in the middle of the field, past the bush that blooms yellow in the summer, past the twin trees that seems to be a half mile high. The shrieks of the shadow follow me, and I decide that the tree will be my refuge. I take a deep, frigid breath, grab a branch, shut my eyes, and whisper a prayer, before pulling myself up by the thin twiglike branches. They start to crack under my weight, but I quickly pull myself closer to the trunk, swinging like I'm on monkey bars, where the branches are stronger. I manage to hoist a leg up, and I'm straddling the branch, scooting closer to its base.

I think about how far away the ground is. I'm untethered and weightless as I think about how close the sky is. I look down. Down, down, at least 20 feet. There's no sense of vertigo, just a simple satisfaction at how I've left the shadows down there on the ground.

I think about how cold it is.

I think about how much colder it must be in the sky. I climb up another six feet. I look around, noting that shadows are non-existent in the sky.

A stiff, freezing breeze rattles the twigs and pine needles, and I feel the half mile high tree start to sway. I realize that the breeze is blowing away from the murky frozen pond.

I quash the rational side of my mind under my heel. It lets out a final cry, shown as a small whimper coming from my lips, and a puff of cloudy mist from my throat.

I look at my house again, then to the stars. Then, I stand on my branch, and facing the moon, I throw myself into the brittle freezing wind.

Push down, pull up. Down, up. A rhythm, more than a little strained, but worked in trust.

For a breathless few moments, I'm flying.

Then I crash into the other tree.

The branches and pine needles are rough against my skin, and the wind picks up, swirling the broken branches and needles from their host. My eyes widen involuntarily as I'm cast under the shadow of the branches, grasping desperately for purchase on cold, rough, bark. Branches snap loudly, moonlight glistens on small splintered cuts in my skin.

Suddenly, the branches are gone, and I find my wings working reflexively. Up, down. Up, down. I watch the ground hazily, seeing it rise close enough for me to touch. The ground and the shadows fall away, and I rise to meet the setting sun.