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It was in her
intricate nature, this crying out for the mystical and magical. How
else could one explain why she was here, poised on the edge of the
moon and ready to fly into the sky and beyond? She could breathe the
starlight and feel moon dust dancing in her hair. She was a thing of
air and imagination, of belief beyond believing.
It had never occurred to her that she was this whimsical being. Her life had been spent in the knowledge that she was ordinary. She came from an ordinary family, lived in an ordinary house, went to an ordinary school, played ordinary games, woke up to an ordinary day and went to sleep for eight hours during an ordinary night. No, there was never anything to suggest that she was quite extraordinary.
She could not remember when the change had begun to happen. It had been so infinitesimally gradual that she could really only say for certain that once she wasn't, and now she was. Intricate, mystical and magical, that is. It had become most noticeable, however, three weeks ago. During her nightly sojourn to stare up into the night-time sky (and when that had begun seemed a mystery to her – hadn't she always done it?), she noticed that she was sparkling. She'd waved her hand in front of her face and marveled at the silvery trails she left in the air. Soon, she began to feel herself lifting from the ground whenever she even thought of the vast and starry night sky.
Then last night, a full moon and a blue moon, she closed her eyes and imagined that the starlight surrounded her, lifted her, and held her up for the world to see. When she opened her eyes she was floating high above her home. Down below, she could see her parents, tiny as ants, waving madly to her. She felt a little sad, knowing that this would be the last time she would gaze upon those beloved faces. However, she knew that in time she would forget them, though she was certain they would never forget her. She blew each a kiss, waved goodbye, and flew into the heavens to dance on the moon.
Her parents watched her disappear, dismay darkening their hearts. As they stood there, hoping against hope that she would return, two silver butterflies appeared and flew towards them. One landed softly on her mother's cheek, the other on her father's cheek, their wings fluttering, fanning joy and acceptance into their sorrowing souls. They felt just like kisses.
It had never occurred to her that she was this whimsical being. Her life had been spent in the knowledge that she was ordinary. She came from an ordinary family, lived in an ordinary house, went to an ordinary school, played ordinary games, woke up to an ordinary day and went to sleep for eight hours during an ordinary night. No, there was never anything to suggest that she was quite extraordinary.
She could not remember when the change had begun to happen. It had been so infinitesimally gradual that she could really only say for certain that once she wasn't, and now she was. Intricate, mystical and magical, that is. It had become most noticeable, however, three weeks ago. During her nightly sojourn to stare up into the night-time sky (and when that had begun seemed a mystery to her – hadn't she always done it?), she noticed that she was sparkling. She'd waved her hand in front of her face and marveled at the silvery trails she left in the air. Soon, she began to feel herself lifting from the ground whenever she even thought of the vast and starry night sky.
Then last night, a full moon and a blue moon, she closed her eyes and imagined that the starlight surrounded her, lifted her, and held her up for the world to see. When she opened her eyes she was floating high above her home. Down below, she could see her parents, tiny as ants, waving madly to her. She felt a little sad, knowing that this would be the last time she would gaze upon those beloved faces. However, she knew that in time she would forget them, though she was certain they would never forget her. She blew each a kiss, waved goodbye, and flew into the heavens to dance on the moon.
Her parents watched her disappear, dismay darkening their hearts. As they stood there, hoping against hope that she would return, two silver butterflies appeared and flew towards them. One landed softly on her mother's cheek, the other on her father's cheek, their wings fluttering, fanning joy and acceptance into their sorrowing souls. They felt just like kisses.
Inspired by a prompt from Cynthia Morris in her quarterly Free Write Fling.
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