WINGS

The black petals surrounded him in the darkness. He sat there crying, slouched over the pristine knife that lay in front of him. His ash blond hair swept over his brow as he sobbed. The weight of the several black feathers jutting from his back pushed him down even further. From the many dark quills, a few had already fallen. His time was running out. He shoved a hand to the pitch black ground to support himself. He used the other hand to scoop up some of the wilting petals. They disintegrated into bits of dust as soon as they felt his touch. As he wept, his tears fell onto the blade under him. The spots they touched rusted immediately. He picked up the knife by the handle and looked at it, tears staining his face as the drops fell to the floor. Another feather fell. He knew he had to decide now. Would he stay like this, immortal and suffering? Or would he choose to embrace mortality and welcome death with open arms? Two more fell. If he chose the second option, he would die and so return to this place of eternal sorrow. But would he find happiness in the short period of time before returning to the darkness? He would also lose his abnormality. He would not be any more than a human, much less an anomaly. Yet, he felt that that chance of consolation was worth it. He reached behind him and made a sweeping cut along his back. Blood dripped. He screamed. He dropped the blade, now crimson, and closed his eyes. 

His wings fell to the ground. 

A fallen angel no longer. He was human. 

Sabah is a sixth-grader at Sunbeams, Dhaka.