Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

 
            I flapped my wings hardily, my expression sour and my eyes holding an everlasting anger. I tried my best to fly, but my posture and actions were sloppy and impatient. I didn’t succeed, nor could I satisfy my need to soar through the strong winds of London. Every time I’d go out to buy groceries or just walk around, I’d always see my own species ascend into the majestic sky, free from care. I always envied them, and who can blame me? They took their gift for granted and I couldn’t help but mourn and shove my appendages in the confines of my hoodie’s pocket.
 
            “Move it, ground dweller!” the shout of another alarmed me. I looked to my right and side-stepped, letting the other pass me with ease. I only stared with bitterness as they became a silhouette in the distance. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t the first time I’d been called out. Hell, almost everyone on this godforsaken planet would be spending most of their time flying, and if not, resting from said flying. However, a lot of people these days took it for granted. They failed to notice the ones who lacked said wings, or just couldn’t muster up the effort nor strength to lift their puny form off the ground. People even formed a plethora of sports even dedicated to wings only. There was a rare occurrence when one fledgling would pursue an on-ground sport, as there were so few in the world. Plus, wings were big and bulky, it was hard to run anywhere with the weight distribution shifting every now and again. I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve toppled over because of my heavy, black wings.
 
            I let out a deep breath, lifting my hand to my wings and letting my digits stroke the soft, sable quills that I called my own. Then I remembered being with my friends and family back in the United States. I threatened to cut them off, just because I didn’t know how to fly. I went to a psychologist the next week, and eventually I abandoned everything I lived and cared for just to pursue my own dreams. No matter how many times I’ve gone through training and schooling, I just couldn’t do so. I was deemed an outcast with the rest of the rejects. How was one to live when their sense of freedom and dignity just up and left? It was a depressing and arduous life after that, but even through, I felt a bit better staying in London. Maybe it was just a false sense of reassurance to help myself live only a short while longer. It worked, as I felt the absence of suicide leave my frontal lobe ever since I moved to this place.
 
            My only problem was finances. It was hard to find a job that specializes with ground dwellers, because they were paid significantly lower than anyone else. I was recently kicked out of my job because I was framed for something I didn’t even do. It doesn’t matter now, though. It’s all in the past.
 
            I adjusted my garment and stretched my wings, feeling a satisfactory ‘pop’ in return. Then I grabbed my bike and slipped onto the seat and headed down the narrow road, trees and houses strewn every which way making the trek a tedious journey. I didn’t mind, I did this every day, so I was use to it by now.
 
            Then I looked up to the clouds, shadows flying every-which-way. I noted how they danced elegantly between the huge trees everywhere. I hissed a little, hearing a long string of chirps coming from the tree houses from above as mothers and fathers cared for their fledglings. I only sighed, flapping my wings to equalize my balance a bit more.
 
            It wasn’t long before I arrived to a house, obviously situated on the ground. It was similar to a simple, wooden cabin, but it was so grizzled, you’d hope it wasn’t a place of residence. Though it’s my home, and it was abandoned. Where else was I to go? Like I said, jobs were a minority for people like me. Nonetheless I was broke, the only thing I could afford was a measly amount of food. It would suffice for a while, I knew, but I needed to do something before I resorted to . . . stealing. Though even so, that would still be a hard enough task as it is.
 
            I shook these thoughts aside, helping myself into my house. It was relatively clean on the inside, but it still needed a bit more tidying, as it still looked pretty frightful. I got use to it as time progressed, however, so I didn’t really need to worry, but the thought of a nice, clean house still haunted me to this day, as well as the satisfaction of flying, which I have yet to accomplish.
 
            I set down my bag of groceries, hissing as a can of tomatoes topple to the floor and burst open to let out a gooey liquid of a light red. I felt really disappointed in not only myself, but my actions. I hastily cleaned it up with ease, but even so, it was money wasted. I threw the paper towel in the trash before going to the ‘wash bucket’ to clean my hands. It wasn’t really clean, but it’d suffice.
 
            Once that was done, I helped myself to a cheap, sloppily-made sandwich which I enjoyed.  After that, I just settled down on the ground in a heap of material made tediously out of old blankets and pillows. It was what I considered my bed, and even so, this was a normal creation made by avian hybrid such as myself, especially for fledglings.
 
            I cuddled some more, letting the overwhelming sense of exhaustion take over me. I just let the dark abyss of my mind take over me, but I failed to notice the door before me open . . .