It was after I saw the feathers that I decided to hide. Through a combination of running and fast strolls, I had gotten to this sole bathroom in the middle of the road, which was too average to behold the peculiarities occurring within it. I had no logic explanation to this physical feature that was growing in me. How can feathers grow from the body of a human being, homo sapiens, a mammal, other than a bat of course? Per my schedule, I had to be at office about half an hour ago, but this inexplicable excuse is far too weak as in hindsight it is far too fictitious. What could I possibly explain to my superior at office? Indeed Mr. Carmichael, I missed today’s meeting due to sturdy blue, almost sapphire feathers growing on the back of my ribs, and no Mr. Carmichael, it is not possible to cut them out, as they have sensory nerves that could hence cause me abundant pain. Yes Mr. Carmichael, I understand, I cannot go to work as a half-part bird. Yes, Mr. Carmichael you cannot have someone working under these circumstances. Yes Mr. Carmichael, I know I am fired; it was a pleasure working for you throughout these five years of my life.
I was parallelized. How can a puzzle-build life of perfectly constructed occurrences be ragged apart by an unfathomable and uncontrollable event? As I had done nothing to cause this. Today my schedule had been crammed with activities that included not only meetings with the corporation’s partnerships, but also imperative business lunches, and advertising campaigns. Where did I leave my agenda last?
Just then I heard a knock on the door, and so I gazed at my clock, it was about time; they had found me. It was my escort woman asking whether everything was under control, but I gave her no answers, so again she asked, “Ms. Icar, is everything alright? Remember about the meeting.”
But I did not respond. Why could it be that now, on the most important and eventful day of my life, this had to occur?
“Breathe Cleo,” I murmured, trying to self-convince myself that by inhaling some oxygen-or whatever type of air this bathroom had-I will feel relief and could be able to perhaps even time-travel to prevent this paradox of a nonfiction. Nevertheless, every attempt to fall into serenity was absurd.
“Please go back to the office Beatrice, I am incapable of coming out. Tell Mr. Carmichael I would not be able to go to the meeting today,” I managed to passively demand.
“Are you sure Ms. Icar? You have a lot scheduled for today. It is essential that you come out,” she responded with a somewhat threatening tone-one that she would have not used were my voice as frail.
“I am sure Beatrice. I need some time,” I answered, without an attempt to regain my sturdiness.
I heard the sound of Beatrice’s heels slowly vanish through the unsteady cement, and I stood there paused, contemplating my situation. I was speechless for the first time.
I shook my head and looked down on the clock, just to realize I had become a human vegetable for about six hours. However, I had no plans to leave this cube, so I looked down on the toilet seat, closed the tap and sat on it. Attempting to lean back on the wall while sitting in the tap, the blue meter-wide wings that grew from my ribs fluttered as in insanity; they were hurt when I compressed them to the wall. So, I stood up and rested my back towards the sink, but again the wings flapped as in response to their hurting. Clueless, I sat on the floor, but again the wings wavered, and now I had no account to their agony. I could feel the pain, but I did not know its source.
Just then, out of crude frustration, my whole body became pulled by one lone force, madness. This force converted into a hurricane inside my body, rushing through it impatiently, triggering myself to become reckless. Compressing my feet’s strength, I kicked the sink, the toilet, the trashcan. Hell, I kicked every item inside this cube. I was reckless, loose, mad, but most importantly confused.
Abruptly, another hurricane swift through my body, misery. My sense of reality had drowned with my aspirations to overachieve-a desire that had now become a mere illusion. I could feel disappointment scaling up through my back bone and reaching my eyes, transforming into droplets of water that emerged from my retina at a gradual velocity. I lifted my right hand up to caress the droplets of water coming from my eye, one-by-one; it had been a long time since they had trailed through my face.
What was I? Why had I become a mutant? What was I even feeling? I shook my head to assume responsibility for the present, and then grabbed the lowest part of my white shirt – whose back part was now broken due to the unexpected appearance of the wings – and slipped it to my head, being careful with the wings when removing it. All the while, the wings pulsated smoothly in constant motion, creating a soothing wind that was not too abrupt, nor too poor to be even felt. It was as if air treated the wings the way water treats humans: gentle and comfortingly. I turned my back towards the mirror to observe the connection these wings had with my body. I contracted my body, bulging it inwards to see my back bones, and I discovered that, apparently, my wings were inter-wined with my ribs as if they were branches. They had miniature root-like cartilages whose color was subtler than the deep sapphire blue of the wings themselves; these cartilages were what conjoined the wings to the ribs. Though this was all too bewildering, it was also mesmerizing. The blue hypnotized my eyes, and so did the spots of diamond-like specs that rested upon the blue and added to the deepness of this azure extravagance. They could be a craftsman most divine piece, had one to just gape beyond their oddity.
I grabbed my suit immediately, and managed to put it on in a manner that was unpainful for my wings. Opening the door’s handle with care, and then peeking through the opening of the door, I cautiously got myself out of this cube. While walking, my eyes followed every step on the road in alarm to what I behold on my back and to what my previous responsibilities had been. My eye suddenly began to twitch as result of my anxiety. My fingers moved in an uncontrollable motion. My head shifted from side-to-side. The inner hurricane once again struck, this time being lunacy. Still, I managed to prevent its growth, and acted like a barricade to stop it. With a regained victorious feeling of self-control, I removed my suit, and led my wings breathe.
“Breathe Cleo,” I murmured, “this chaste air of nobody. It has been a long time since you found yourself surrounded by no urbanity.” To rejoice the content I felt on my inside, I proceeded to run with no direction, as I smiled. My wings fluttered and swayed with joy, as if they were familiar with the ambiance. I am running nonstop. I am running reckless. I am running confused. I am running in lunacy. I am flying as a product of liberty. At last, what freedom!