ORIGIN: It’s a family tree.
I made a deal with the devil. I am a mouse with bird wings, but I still haven’t touched the sky. Soon I will have to shed these worn-out feathers, and even crying tears of blood won’t help me grow a replacement. I will have no choice but to ask the devil for a new pair. At least once every year because I know my heart. Please, tell me that this isn’t the face children make when they write their Christmas lists.
I am still a pinkie that has much to learn. I am not ready to make any promises, and I won’t be paving the way for somebody else anytime soon, but there is one thing I do know. It’s easier to walk on wet sand than dry sand, and I have seen birds and clouds fly in the same sky. They must have blood to spare, and I am sure that once I rip off a pair of wings, all will be smooth sailing.
I have my eye on a pair of wings. I am fear personified, but that bird keeps leaving me in the dust. If only I could fall asleep and wake up in its skin, I know life would be a dream. But some things are not meant to be. I’ve come too far down this path, it’s imprinted in my DNA, and I fear I would only drag those wings down.
I have seen what happens to birds at the end of the road. Ants come for their feathers and their flesh. I call it a sun burial, but I am not quite ready to stare at the sun and welcome those ants into my eyes. Birds have air in their bones because they shrug off the weight of the world every time they flap their wings. Who knows, maybe I won’t be able to fly, but I won’t rest until I have feather-dusted myself from head to toe.
I don’t like where I am headed. I don’t think mouse traps can be used to sound an SOS. I want to blot out what’s written in the stars and find a new path. But I would settle for spinning some bird like a top and turning back time. There was a time when I was obliviously happy, and I wouldn’t mind taking those first steps again.