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An angel and a...fairy? Is it really a fairy wing? It’s the same size as the other one. I thought fairy wings were small.
Well, at least they’ll stay hidden most of the time.
Wings only became visible to others when the person experiences strong emotions. Everyone has wings, and wings usually match. My parents only have angel wings.
So where did the fairy wing come from?
The angel wing is my left wing, all white and fluffy. The right fairy wing is kind of pink or purple...it’s more round. And sparkly. Those sparkles are going to be such a pain. They already are a pain and I just noticed they exist.
As I go outside, I notice a lot of other people. Their wings aren’t visible, because they’re not currently experiencing a strong emotion. But I know theirs match. Two angel wings, or fairy wings, or whatever, as long as they match. Not like my weird angel and fairy pair.
I hope my wings aren’t visible either.
I try to not express strong emotions. Apparently it’s not tied to a specific emotion (just anger, sadness, happiness, etc) it’s just any emotion. I can’t even express my disdain.
I can still feel the wings on my back. The angel wing is a lot heavier than the fairy wing, so it makes it hard to focus. And hard to walk.
I bump into someone walking down the street.
“Oh, sorry,” I quickly walk away, hoping my wings didn’t appear. It’s hard to tell if other people can see the wings. They don’t say anything.
I keep walking, figuring out how to flap my wings and keep my balance as I walk. There is no way I’ll ever fly with these on. They’re so different.
I see a few other people’s wings. Some teenage girls are feeling a lot of joy over the fact that one of them just got wings. One girl has fairy wings (that match, so it’ll probably be easy to fly with) and the other has angel wings. Fluffy, heavy, angel wings.
I feel envious of those girls who are so excited at something I hate.
Envious.
By the time I realize I’m glaring, everyone is staring at me and whispering.
“Uh, hi?” The girl with angel wings talks to me.
“Hi,” I try not to appear angry, but she’s still scared of me.
“I...uh, why are your wings different?” She whispers. I hate this. Everyone is staring at me, and I want the girl to go away. “I mean they’re pretty, but I was wondering...”
“I don’t know either,” I sigh. “I turned 16, and it turned out they look like this.”
We don’t say anything for a moment.
“Everyone is staring at us,” she says.
“Yeah I know. Anyways, I’m just going to leave.”
“Okay. Uh...I like your wings,” she says as I leave.
I don’t say anything, but at least for a moment, my wings are showing from...happiness. Not from humiliation or nerves. Just simple happiness from being complimented.
I try not to pay attention to whether people can see my wings or not. And when I do, I just think that someone out there liked this.