On Perfect Wings: A Short Story

It was an autumn morning when this young man woke up after a very exhausting ordinary day. All of them were the same. He forgot to close the window before going to sleep. Outside of his room, a hastily noise of something falling was heard, and the door suddenly opened,

“What is this flow coming from under your door about?” said the woman in an old nightgown. After a short moment, she realised the slightly ajar window that was probably all the way open minutes ago. The boy in the bed was still asleep. She raised her voice,

“Get up before I throw the messy clothes of yours out of the window.” She was pointing at the empty bed in his room that was being used as a wardrobe. The boy stirred a little, turned his face away from the blank wall, rubbed his eyes, and, with the partly muted voice brought by sleep,

“It is not that cold, Mom, It is only November.” Said the sleepy young man. He leaned aside on the nightstand to reach his phone. While checking his program, mother was still complaining,

“At least think about these little creatures,” she was looking at the two dead moths on the floor. “They are getting fooled by your nightlight and ending up dead until the sun comes up.”

They are not fools, and they are not dying, he thought to himself. He finally got up from his bed and went for bathroom to wash his face. Mother, still nervous due to other common things in her life, did not go over the matter. He went back to his room to get prepared, but before that, he had something important to do. He closed the door behind himself, walked to the moths, and picked them gently.

“Sorry for the interruption.” Said he and closed them in the palm of his hands. “Wake up little ones, by the name of the fallen leaves of the fall and the long dead butterflies of the spring. Feel the welcoming, nonfatal fire coming out of my hands and find the beauty of pure life in it. Give them frowsy wings of yours to me and leave. Leave for your friends; tell them we are meeting tonight.”

He blew a shrill whistle into his hands, and a spark went off inside. Calmly opening his hands, he saw two beautiful caterpillars hugging each other. He picked up the wings to put them in a jar and left the creatures in front of the window, prepared in a hurry, and left for school.

The last warm days of autumn was passing in pain for the young man. School was fine, friends were fine, and all of the chat was fine but he was not able to focus on these things because of what he observed in the eyes of everyone. Everybody was wearing pretty gowns and putting on perfect grins to hide their doubts and convictions they had for a long period of time, carrying them like a sweet baby and never letting a single particle of dust touch them. All of them were in perfect harmony; no one was daring to show their babies to each other, thinking that they would never get along with one another and bring sickness. This pretty gown they use without any questions and call it experience makes him feel sick.

Tonight, all of these are coming to an end. This demon will not be taking my freedom anymore, he thought. He left the school in the evening. The naked tree in front of the apartment where he lived had an unlimited amount of grown up chrysalises on its branches. Amazed by the view, the boy flashed a smile. Soon, these capsules will begin to give birth to his one-way ticket to freedom. He calmly took a step towards the house. The family was in the living room and did not hear the boy. Thanks to this, he went directly to his room. He took the jar full of moth wings, shook it until all the fuzz on them fell off, opened the window, and began waiting. Shortly after, a group of butterflies appeared outside, waiting for his next move.

"Welcome, dear friends; I hope you did rest well.” Said he, opening the jar and emptying all the fuzz into his hands, “Here, this is your past, your experiences; wear them to create a bond with each other.” He blew all; the pieces glowed orange as they touched the skins of butterflies; they formed the shape of a bed and came closer to the window. The boy leaned out the window and threw himself into the strong bonds of them. He was floating now. On perfect wings, he flew to the layers of the clouds. A strange feeling of peace he felt in his heart. He was flying like he did way back when he never stepped foot on this weary earth. Up above, he saw the sun, the innocence where he could dream and love again; he was leading there, weightless.

But, he thought for a second, and as he thought this but, the wings slowed down and stopped rising,

“What if it is too early?” A voice came from nowhere.

“Who is this? Go on, they are waiting for me up there; why did you all stop?” The boy was frightened.

“There is no one waiting for you over there, our fierce friend. You turned us into a sweet creature, but your sweet escape is nothing different than how you collected us as moths. Your dim light in your room is the same as this sun, and now you are acting like one of us. However, when you get there, there will be nobody to hold you in his warm hands; that beautiful flame has nothing in it, and you will be dead like us. It is too early to leave.” All the butterflies spoke with one voice.

“You do not understand!” Young man was crying, "Yes, you are right, it is too early to leave, but I could not grow enough to bear all these. This is what is too late.”

“You cannot know,” the holy sound of the wings was getting separated. “You have the soul; go show it, and do not let anybody drag this meaning to misty places.”

"But all these doubts and convictions got me waylaid. Please, do not leave me here.” Young man was begging while all the wings were falling off.

“You are alright, friend. What is happening right now is exactly what you want.” The separating voices were becoming inaudible. The last wings were in his hands now; he ripped them off, and glowing bonds faded away.

When the boy suddenly woke up, he was sitting in front of the window. He backed off with fear and immediately closed the windows. His beating heart was slowly calming down now. With the dry tears on his cheeks, he drew the curtains and turned the light off. Young man went to bed and tried to sleep. No soul was going to burn in flames that night.