I was a bird in a flock, flying high, enjoying the views, blending seamlessly into the wave of feathered freedom that I called family and friends. Without warning, a bullet passed through my wing, grounding me, separating me, and making me ashamed that, though I still looked like a bird, I could no longer soar at will. The other birds circled 'round when at first I tumbled from the sky, but the bullet had passed through, and none could see and therefore understand the pain and damage left behind. So they did what they do best: flew away. And I was left alone, walking the same small path, seeing the fatiguingly familiar sights, trapped in a cage without bars. I know I will never soar again in this world, which is why I have hope and faith that flies beyond the clouds.
Categories:
fatiguingly, body, grief, health, hope,
Form: Prose