Height

I hate heights. The ground is safe, steady, secure. I don't like to be away from it. After all the support it's given me through the years, it deserves my faith. It's never wavered, so why would I ever leave? That's how I always used to view it, until recently. The ground is less of a loyal companion than I thought. It left me. Dropped off into the ether, leaving me breathless and terrified. I could've followed it down. I wanted to, truly desperately wanted to, no matter how much it would hurt when I reached it. Any amount of pain seemed better than being left in the lurch like this. But I couldn't. I knew I wouldn't survive if I tried to drop back down. Not as myself, anyway. There wasn't really any choice but to spread my wings and fly. I didn't even know if they worked. I'd spent so long taking care of them, maintaining them, preening and preserving, but I'd never once tried to take off. No time for practice, not when I was already starting to fall. I extended my wings, spreading the feathers wide. As they caught the air, I felt certain that they'd rip right off my back. For that brief moment, I knew in my heart that I'd made a mistake, and I'd soon be tumbling back to earth, my back screaming in agony as punishment for my hubris. In the next moment, I stabilized. No longer falling, just hanging placidly in the air. I've been up here ever since. I don't know where to go now. I suppose I can go anywhere, as terrifying of a thought as that is. For now, I suppose I'll try to find other flyers. Others who have been abandoned by the ground.