Short Story: Flight
They never acknowledged the pain. They didn't care until it was too late.
Vara’s back felt as if it was splitting open. Pain like electricity shot up her spine, ripping across her flesh. She lay on her stomach on the bed, hands pressed over her eyes, trying to keep in the tears. Why was this happening to her?
In the mirror, she ran a finger down her bare, twisted spine. Strange bumps were forming under her shoulder-blades and red lines ran down from them. She pulled her shirt back down, covering the stinging scars. She wasn’t ready to tell anyone. There was no one that she trusted enough, and she could endure the pain a little longer.
At dinner, she rested her elbows on the table, her head pounding too hard to participate in the family conversation. Her little sister tugged on her hair and kicked her chair under the table.
“Stop it Elsie!” she snapped.
“What’s up with you?” asked her father, frowning. “Apologize to your sister!” She muttered a “sorry”, and ran upstairs to her room. She could hear her parents yelling at her to come back, but she simply shoved a pillow over her head and went to sleep. She would probably be grounded, but that was the least of her worries at the moment.
The next day, she got ready for school, pulled a large hoodie over her torso to cover the bumps, and caught the bus without speaking to her family. She got another test back, a low B. Her grades had been in steady decline since her back started hurting a month ago.
At lunch, she sat alone. At first her friends had asked her what was wrong, but she hadn’t answered them so one by one they had stopped speaking to her. They were trying to be nice and she knew it, but it still hurt her. She didn’t want them to talk to her, but she wanted them to be there.
Teachers and students stared at her, turning to whisper to their peers as if she couldn’t hear them. They didn’t know what was wrong with her, but they had many theories. Some people thought she didn’t eat enough, maybe there was something going on at home, or perhaps a family member died. They were all wrong, of course.
She wished they’d just stop whispering and forget about her, but at the same time, she longed for someone to know what she was going through. She could tell them, but she didn’t want to.
One night, she snuck down to the kitchen to find Advil, or anything to take the edge off of her pain. Her mother caught her and asked what was wrong.
“Just a headache,” She went back upstairs without any further questions.
A few days later, the principal had a meeting with her and her parents to discuss the falling grades and crying in class. They all looked at Vara questioningly, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell them about her back, which was twisting and bleeding under her hoodie.
Eventually, however, the bumps grew inches down her flesh, visible through her hoodie. At a doctor’s visit, she had to pull up her shirt and they saw the infected wounds and protruding bones. At least now that they knew there would be help for her.
To her shock, the doctor simply smiled and her mother looked relieved.
“You’re growing wings,” she said, running a careless gloved finger across the scarred flesh. “You’ll be alright.” The doctor didn’t even prescribe a pain-killer; she simply sent Vara home with her mother.
At school, she didn’t bother trying to hide anymore. It was a relief to wear a backless shirt that didn’t rub against the wounds. Everyone was intrigued by her growing wings. They made her unique and interesting. Her friends all crowded back around her and started sitting at her lunch table again.
Everyone seemed happy about the revelation. For some reason, they acted as if the problem was solved. It wasn’t. Her back was only growing more and more painful. The wounds were still bleeding and widening. The bony wings were still splitting her apart.
“I wish I had wings,” said one of her friends, sighing loudly.
“No you don’t,” she protested. “They hurt horribly and they bleed and make it impossible to sleep.”
“Well yes, but one day you’ll be able to fly and they’re so pretty.” It was true perhaps. The wings were iridescent and purple and shimmered in the sunlight. Vara had never thought about them as beautiful. The only thing she noticed was her bleeding back and twisted spine. Besides, she didn’t want to fly.
One day, she asked her parents if she could have the wings removed.
“Please!” she begged. “They’re ripping me apart. I can’t sleep or sit in chairs, or think. Everything I do is enveloped in pain.”
Her mother sighed, shooting a look at her father. She smiled softly.
“Your wings are beautiful. They may be painful, but that will go away. Eventually, you’ll be able to fly. Just wait.” That night in bed, she cried bitter tears. How many times would she have to tell them she didn’t want to fly? Why would no one listen?
Everyone continued to praise the wings, drawing attention to the beauty and the promise of flight. They were trying to distract Vara from the pain, but all she wanted was for someone to acknowledge it. The beauty of the wings didn’t change the fact that they were slowly killing her.
She looked at them in the mirror. They sparkled like the wings of a dragonfly, pale purple. Beneath them, her spine was deformed and fractured, and her back was scabbed and matched the purple hue.
Everyone thought that the wounds had healed because they couldn’t see them, but they were only growing. Vara stopped hoping people would care. If she told them what was really happening, she knew exactly what they would say and she didn’t want to hear it again. She didn’t want to fly.
One day, a feather appeared on the tip of her left wing, a black feather. For some reason, that worried her mother. Vara didn’t care. As more feathers appeared, the wounds on her back began to heal.
For the first time, her friends asked if she was okay. It was far too late for that. She didn’t want to hear it now. Now, for the first time in months, she wasn’t in pain. Soon, her wings were black and sharp at the ends.
People began to stare. People stopped telling her the wings were lovely. Everyone seemed to forget that they would one day grant her the ability to fly, but Vara didn’t forget.
Late at night, she would stand in the garden and flap her wings. They were growing stronger and stronger and soon they would be able to lift her.
One night, she decided that it was time to try. She opened her window and stood in the frame, heart beating steadily with the flapping of her wings. She jumped and they caught her, guiding her through the crisp air.
That night, she flew away and never returned. Everyone heard about what happened and for some reason, they were sad about it. They mourned that she had ever grown wings. They mourned that she had flown away. Still, they never acknowledged the pain.
Thanks for reading!