I always thought wings were the windows to the soul. They were never eyes. Every person has wings, from every shape to every size. They could be angel wings, or slick like a fairy, they could be a hummingbird, or built of fire. It doesn't seem to matter. Some have only one wing, lost from a trauma, or something that had gone horribly wrong. And some who once had them, don't anymore. And then there are those born with no wings. I don't know why. It just is. This isn't a box you're trying to shove people into after all. The wings told of what a person was, and what they would become. For wings, were the very fate you were trying to run from.
When I first saw wings, I was young. Only eight or nine, old enough to know something was wrong, but not old enough to know what or even to understand. When papa and momma were yelling at each other in the dining room, was when I first saw it. There was a flicker, and there they were. Papa's wings flapped backwards in anger, and momma's shrunk inside of her. With the flash there was a chill, and it almost felt like a pair of eyes were watching me, but in later years I shrugged it off as my imagination. It was only a couple days later, that papa left. He never came back. Mama cried, but was confident that we could live without him. We did. Years later, I still don't know what happened to papa. Mama says it would be better if he were dead.
As I grew up, it was hard to tell my secret. AT first I was met with criticism, which grew into 'You're lying,' or 'you're crazy.' Eventually I stopped trying to tell. I was a bit of a loner because of my secret. But then who would come around but my very first friend, Josh, a boy who wouldn't take a no for friendship as an answer.
I met Josh in my freshman year of college. He became a good friend of mine, always confident and cocky. He was a runner, and I always liked to think that his personality fit his wings. They were slicked back, just like a runner with a need for speed.They were a tawny brown with a nice beige added to the secondaries, and yet they were wet. He was the one who convinced me to join him in a summer job. We worked together for three good years, until one day I noticed that his wings looked like they were dipped in tears, showing that he would leave us one day. He did, saying his time had come to an end, and so he flew off to a new beginning.
I met Sam and Brian on my first summer job. They seemed at ease with each other, and were welcoming to a "newcomer" such as I. They were good friends, and had a playful attitude towards one another as well as anyone who would come into their circle.Sam and Brian's wings were beautiful. Brian's were a shiny obsidian which brought with them streaks of gold, while Sam's also held the streaks of gold, though his wings were sapphire blue. At the tips of their feathers, they're wings melded together whenever they came close. And if one squinted long enough, you'd see the red string that connected them together. They said they were both straight, but they're wings told something else. Soulmates, some might say, just like in the old stories my mama used to tell me to tuck me in at night.
Mariah's wings were large and angel like, a lavender, and spread to encompass whom she thought of as her "family." She was one of my coworkers over the summer but as the hours grew on and the days passed, she became a friend and eventually a sister. Part of the family. And it seems that she considered myself a part of her family as well. I was happy to say the least. When her wings brushed up against anothers, it brought such a calm to you, you might think that you'd have imagined it.
I've seen so many wings, seen so many souls. Not just friends or family but random strangers. In the airport, at the supermarket. I keep my wings closed against my body. I've found that if I touch other's wings, it normally sends a wave of disgust through me. If someone's your friend, or your family it just doesn't. I don't know why. I assume it's the same with soulmates. When I used to tell people about my secret someone would tell me, It's just your imagination. You're crazy, says another. You just haven't seen them I wish to say. If seeing is believing, then for me, believing is seeing. But I don't say that. For I would be carted off to a loony bin if I do.
The wings show what is to come. What will be. If they grow gray and sickly, and the feathers start to droop, and drop to the ground, the person's about to die. If the wings are soaked in tears, the person's about to leave. They can be tells as well. If the person says they are okay, and their wings are drooping, I know something's wrong. If the wings turn vomit colored, it means self harm. And of course, If your wings meld together with someone else's, it seems that you have found your soulmate. Wings can carry us to do great things. If one can see them, one can fly with them, that's the given rule. I've tried that a couple times. It hurts when you fall.
I'm the boy who can see wings. I'm the boy who can stare into your very soul. The only problem is I didn't know the outcome this would produce!