Fly

   Fly, the wind whispers to me. Fly.

   But I can’t, is what I wish to say. Humans can’t fly.

   Though I know that if I do say that, the wind will ignore me. It won’t even acknowledge my response. It will continue to tell me to fly, for that’s all it ever tells me these days.

   Fly, it whispers again, whispers in my ear.

   I glance down, staring at the ocean below. The satin waves crash onto the deadly rocks, though I can barely hear the sound of the collision. The grass, turned brown due to lack of rain, sway at my feet, tickling my ankles. The blades of green seem to be on the same side as the wind; it’s almost as if they too are telling me to fly.

   I can’t.

  You won’t.

   I gaze up at the cloudless sky, an endless sea of blue. The sun shines proudly above, the beacon providing light in this dark universe. It dances in the sky, a dance that no one ever notices.

   Fly; touch the sun, touch the sky.

   A sudden gust of wind nearly knocks me over. It’s getting impatient, and I know that if I don’t take the risk soon, it will have no choice but to push me, shove me, until I’m over the edge, until I’m suspended in the sky.

   I look down to the ocean once again. You can’t fly, they tell me. If you try to, you will fail, and will be swallowed.

   The water continues to taunt me. They tell me that I can’t fly, and I choose to believe their lies. I block the voice of the wind out; I’m sick and tired of hearing its voice. I need it to stop pestering me to do something I’m not capable of doing.

   Besides, I don’t want to take the risk, only to have the ocean swallow me.

   I breathe in the salty air, listening to the ocean crashing against the same, sharp rocks. You can’t fly, and you’ll never be able to. At least I’m not the only one who knows that I’m not able to fly.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   It continues to taunt me.

   Please, I beg. Stop.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   It doesn’t listen when I ask it to stop.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   You can’t fly.

   I can’t take this anymore. I could deal with it at first, but now it’s out of my control. The peaceful blue of the ocean now seems darker, more sinister. I try to block out the sound of its taunting voice, but it still travels straight through my brain, implanting itself there.

   Please.

   The water seems nearly black now, and dark clouds have appeared, blocking out the sun’s light. As I stand on the edge of this cliff, listening to the ocean’s taunts in the darkness, is the time where I wish I could still hear the sound of the wind. I can’t handle any of this anymore.

   I stare down, wondering how the impact of the sinister water would feel. How drowning would feel. How it would feel to lose all the oxygen I have left.

   How it would feel to die. 

   You can fly, a voice whispers to me from the back of my mind. You can fly, it repeats.

   I turn my face upward, to see that the clouds are beginning to fade.

   You can fly. The voice is louder this time. 

   I feel something, against my skin, in my hair, at my feet.

   I hear something, in my ears, in my head.

   I see something, high up in the sky, shining bright once again. 

   Fly, the wind whispers to me. Fly.

   Without a second thought, I jump off of the cliff, spreading my newfound wings and I touch the sun, touch the sky.

   I fly.