Night flying
Same road, same fence, same cobblestones, night after night as he was trudging home, beat after another boring yet hard day. Cursed loudly as he turned the corner, mainly to expel the voices out of his skull, but this only worked for a second, and they were back again. Most of them were grumbling about the arduous walk home, day after day, same thing, over and over again, but there was one squeaky voice in the back, that threw the oddball in: why don’t you fly? The rest of them heard it, and started reciting it like blind followers echo a catchy slogan.
Yeah, fly! Why not? Go on, it’s a lot shorter. Come on, fly! That makes sense, doesn’t it? It’s really just a jump. Just a lively hop. He tried his best not to listen to them, though he admitted that a giant leap was way overdue to catch up with his racing mind that was always ahead, never in the moment, invariably in the future. Seldom enjoyed a show as he constantly thought of the next one, envisaged supper at the breakfast table, dreamed of Easter at the Christmas mass. And after all, it’s dark enough to go unnoticed, especially a hundred feet in the air. Not that anybody looked at him anyway. He frowned when he thought of that.
Just under a mile now, he mused, more as an encouragement than a matter of fact. The voices kept on rattling on as he tried his best to keep them at bay. Though it would be nice to fly, who wouldn’t want that? He half-heartedly conceded to take a small jump. Obviously, he didn’t believe he could actually fly, just wanted to quell the voices. So he lept, and all of a sudden was above the street lights.
He gasped and grasped but his hands couldn’t grab anything. He kept on moving upwards, faster than he would have preferred it. Even though it was evident that he’s flying he didn’t want to conscientize it as he was afraid he will blow it, so just rolled with it, let himself drift with the breeze, though it was quite chilly up there. He steadied himself as much as he could and gently floated in the general direction of his home.
Is my smart watch tracking this? he thought. If it does how will it categorize it? Probably running, everything registers as running, except showering. That comes up as swimming. He called it upright swimming.
He had difficulties finding his home from above. Once he did locate it he planned on landing in his garden, that seemed the most inconspicuous way to do it but realized in the last minute that he doesn’t have a key for the back door, so he changed his mind in the last second, barely managed to waver over his roof and touched down on the pavement, narrowly missing the neighbors’ car. That could have been unpleasant.
He anxiously glanced around, but there was no one about. His little drift in the midnight sky went unnoticed. Disappeared quietly inside, flung his clothes in a pile. He even skipped brushing his teeth; just plunged into bed, into a deep, cleansing sleep.
The next morning, as he was munching breakfast alone he wasn’t certain of the previous night events. Did he really fly? Or did he just dream about flying? If he did fly last night will he be capable to fly again? He rose abruptly, food still in his mouth, and spread his arms as a casual Messiah to see if he can take off. He levitated for a few seconds, inches from the floor in his cramped dark hole of a kitchen. The ceiling was so low that even by levitating a couple of inches he bumped his head. But he did hover, that much was unmistakable.
What should I make of this now, he reflected, I just can’t go out and start fluttering around; I would probably get detained, if not shot. Then institutionalized and analyzed for the greater good. It was evident that he will have to hide it. Then his phone buzzed, they needed him early at his work and he had to shoot straight away. Flying wasn’t an option as he would have been surely spotted.
He ended up pulling long hours the whole week, and then the next and the next, working in the weekends too and the memory of his flight was gradually diminishing. He was so busy couldn’t even find the time to float in his living room from time to time. Soon he doubted that he ever flew even on the few occasions when he thought about it. Then he assumed it was just a big jump and over the years he didn’t think about it anymore.
Years passed, ten or more when, in the wee hours of the night, in an intoxicated stupor he had a tattoo done that he couldn’t explain. Neither the next day nor any other day. Yet, on his right arm, with bold letters – sans serif – the words were etched forever in cheap blue ink: “Time flies, so you don’t”.
Since I can’t compel you to stay as there are laws against it why don’t you do it on your own? Stick around and read more of my short stories. All of them are amazing. Well, most of them are. OK, honestly, some of them are. Why don’t you decide for yourself? Take a look around –> Here’s a map!
Or, if you’re really adventurous, get off the beaten track and read a random story!