#post-2012

“Hey, Dad.” I greeted, leaning my newly completed contraption against the small gray headstone at the end of the cliff. I stared down at the stone slab for a moment before crouching and running my fingers over the engraved lettering.

Arthur Douglas

Loving Husband, Father, Friend, and Innovator.

April 12, 2012-July 7, 2074

I smiled, remembering my father. He truly was an innovator. He was always up for trying new things, despite how it affected other people’s opinions on him. I think being born only months before the beginning of Our World might have caused this.

He wasn’t alive long enough in the Old World to actually have any conscious memory of it, but it influenced him. That’s why he invented the wings.

“I finally finished my wings, dad.” I said, my thoughts reminding me why I had come. “I’ve been studying yours for a while, and I think these should work well for me.” I shook the long stick, and the paper surrounding it crinkled in response. 

“I figured out the connection of your weight to the structure of your wings, and I used the same figurations for my own. I’m going to try them out now. If they work, I’ll carry out your legacy. I swear I will, Dad. I’ll make everyone see the genius that you were. I’ll make them regret writing you off as a lunatic.”

I felt my rage rising, so I stopped. I took deep breaths to calm myself. My father’s exile was a hard thing to remember, so I usually tried not to.

“If it doesn’t work,” I continued, “Then I guess I’ll see you soon. I’ve worked so hard on this, though. I want to make you proud.”

I kissed my index and middle fingers, pressed them to the center of my father’s headstone, and whispered our family prayer. Then I grabbed my wings and headed towards the trees.

I stopped at the very edge of the woods and turned back to the cliff, and to my father. This is it, I thought. This is the moment I’ve been preparing for. This is the fork in my road. My destiny can only go two ways from here.

I closed my eyes and thought of my mother. She didn’t know I was here, but would be rushing down to tear my hide if she did. She knew my father wasn’t crazy like everyone in town seemed to think, but she didn’t appreciate his work the way that I did. She thought flight was just a dangerous game that he played for thrills. Only I knew better.

Flight was supposed to change everything. It was hope. It was the future. My father saw that, and so did I.

When I opened my eyes, it was as if I could feel my father’s presence. He was with me, supporting me. He believed in me. So, in turn, I believed in myself. I strapped on my wings, ready to go.

I took off full sprint toward the head stone. When I got close, I placed my hand on the string at the base of my wings, where they met my back. I pulled it, and was relieved when the paper flew out and snapped into place. I quickly looped my fingers through their holders at the tips of my wings, giving me complete control. When I reached the headstone, I stepped onto it and launched myself toward the rocky waters below, holding my arms close to my sides so that the wings wouldn’t cause resistance until I was ready.

All I could hear was wind whistling past my ears as I soared down to what could very possibly be my death. My heart pounded. A fire burned in my stomach. It was all so terrifying, but so thrilling at the same time.