Waking Up With Wings (Short Story)

My alarm went off. I sent a hand out from the warm tangle of my sheets, across my desk to silence it. Then pulled it back in. Something felt wrong. There was extra weight on my back and my shoulders felt like they were being twisted. There was something tickling my skin under my t-shirt.

I groaned and sat up turning on my lamp. I reached around and scratched my back. That’s when I realised there were feathers and wings folded neatly under my t-shirt. My first thought was this is a cool dream. I got up and turned on the light.

I pulled the t-shirt over my head. Then I spread my wings. Controlling them was just as instinctive as moving my arms. I opened my cupboard door and my reflection stared back at me, framed by wings the same brown as my hair.

Cutting holes in the back of another t-shirt I pulled it on and managed to get the wings through without too much difficulty. The house was silent no one else was up yet, it was Saturday morning. I’d forgotten to turn my alarm off for the weekend. I slipped into the back yard.

I flapped my wings experimentally. Nothing happened, I tried again, harder. My toes left the ground. I took a run up and launched myself into the air. I was flying. I laughed this couldn’t be a dream it was too real. The cold air against my skin. The feeling of my beating wings.

I was getting higher with every stroke. I looked down the view was amazing. I had no intention of stopping but I was getting tired. Then an air current took me and I glided effortlessly. I floated, regaining my breath, only having to flap occasionally.

I looked down again, I had no idea where I was anymore. The wind was picking up. Suddenly I just wanted to go home. I tried to drop down but a huge gust of wind took me and swept me up. It was getting hard to breath. Then I blacked out.

I came to again plummeting towards the ground. I flapped desperately but it was no use I crashed into the ground and passed out again.

I opened my eyes, and was confronted with white. My head and arm were sore. I tried to sit up but was pushed gently but firmly back. I could still feel my wings under me. I looked around. I was in a hospital surrounded by curious faces, I didn’t recognise anyone.

Then a police officer arrived and shoed everyone out except one doctor. Then she turned to me.

‘What’s your name,’ she asked.

‘Felicity Windson,’ I said.

I could see she was dying to ask about the wings but was too polite to say anything just yet. I wished I had the answers. I also wished I could just go home but right now that seemed like it wouldn’t be happening for a while.

This is a fictional short story. Here is the exegesis.