Here’s a little story I wrote just for you guys . . . . just trying my hand at it. Let me know what you think.
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Life before the operation was so different. No looks in the street. No sideways glances. Just a normal life.
Just a normal teen. That’s what I was before. That’s what I lost.
On the other side, there are some people in the world that would kill for the opportunity that was thrust upon me.
What a strange thing to say. It’s true though. The opportunity was thrust upon me. I should probably explain my position rather than ramble on without context.
The year is 2050. The date is July 5th. My name is John, and I have wings.
Yes, it’s true. I have wings. They’re bright white, like a Pidgeon or something. Of course, all the girls love them. But I hate them. I can never be myself anymore. I guess at this point you’re wondering how the heck I got myself a fully functional pair of wings, and why on earth I’m complaining about them.
I was chosen, picked, randomly, by some vague yet menacing government agency to undergo an experimental procedure giving me wings.
Why am I complaining? Good question. I’m not myself anymore. I used to be someone. I used to be a living, breathing, thinking human. Which was cool. I enjoyed it.
Now? Now I’m a demonstration. Now I’m a display of what our government can do. Now I’m just a scapegoat and a dog. Now I’m an animal. I feel like a monster.
Sure, there are perks. I get free stuff sometimes. I got a free coffee from some café I went to.
I can sort of fly. It’s bulky and weird, but maybe I’m just not used to it yet. I should practice more.
I lost one of my closest friends. Allegedly, I was getting too much attention for him. Whatever. He’s just jealous because the girl he liked digs my wings. Like I said, whatever. I get used to it.
Having wings introduces this whole new weird social structure. All these people are coming into my life, but most are just temporary. I’ll meet some nice dude, and we’ll be talking for a while and soon I’ll realize he just wants to be famous. Or wants money.
I wonder how many people realize I didn’t actually get any money. I got nothing but some wings. I guess that’s just part of the governments angle. They’re displaying their range of influence. They made me famous. They made people think I have money and wealth and a nice house. Nice clothes and food on the table every night.
All I am is a boy.
All I want is to be normal. I really do just want to fit in. I want to get out of this spotlight. Which is why I’m sitting in the kitchen, typing this letter to you. I don’t even know who you are. The masked reader. I’m sitting here in the kitchen with the automatic knife, ready to finally get rid of these wings.
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Hope you enjoyed!