She is nowhere to be seen.
Is she hiding? Is she trapped?
Is she dead somewhere?
She is no fool. She could smell fear and doubts. She would hear whimpering in the air. She would know.
I try to allure her even so.

I doused her with misery, agony, despair and grief. She held on, closing her eyes, pursing her lips, clenching her fists, and curled up. She was vulnerable, susceptible to elements. Everything hurt her. She cried. She squalled. She sobbed.
She breathed in the dark and, under the faint light, weaved her sorrow into wings.

It is time for me to let her go.
She is strong, and her wings will not fail her.
Her wounds will never be mended and will open up time after time. Her heart will ache. Memories will well up. She will think she can’t go on anymore.
Once I let her go, though, she will flutter and she will fly. She will soar, and I will see her cast a glow.

photo prompt by Sunday Fiction
Copyright Al Forbes

For Sunday Photo Fiction – October 16th 2016

7 thoughts on “wings

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