And they flew. I thought they almost touched the moon, cupped eternity with those misshapen digits. To be free, how I envied them their freedom if not their appearance.
Momma said they were once like us, human, but not now. They chittered and chattered like the creaking ice on my window pane, an incessant smothering. Did they mock, or mourn?
I kissed momma goodbye. She slept, but it seemed right. The meadow was cold, freezing even, but open. They came, and they took me, swooped me off into the midnight sky. I chittered then, too. Who wouldn’t? It was cold.
Author’s Note: Like everyone, I wish I could fly, but would we if the choice meant losing our humanity? Flying aliens made this dilemma possible to answer.
[…] Here is the link to my own if anyone wants to peep Cold Freedoms. […]
Remarkable and stunning writting by Richard Ankers. Richard never fails to amaze with his gift of expression and beautiful works of art.
Wonderful. I would chitter, too.
Great writing. I can feel the cold.