Flying with Broken Wings

I wrote this quite awhile ago, in a spur-of-the-moment vent. I like the concept, but it's not very well-written. I went through with some corrections, but my punctuation's still terrible.

   It was unexplainable, like the existence of God, and only supported by the fact that it was so. How was it possible? The girl couldn’t honestly tell herself, but all she knew as that she liked it--no, that couldn’t even start to describe her feelings on the subject, rather, she loved it.

     Her hair streamed out behind her like a muddy cascade down a slope in a hard rain. But there was no rain, or somber feelings that rain usually roots deep within a person’s soul—rather, today it was exactly the opposite. She was elated, so happy and free. Perhaps she shouldn’t be…Maybe she should be worrying about what was going on in her life and that the way things were looking now it possible her world would cave in on her at any second. But why bother? To do that was to cause herself only further agony and pain, and most days she was convinced she had more then enough of that already.

     It seemed to her that maybe she didn’t have a reason to feel this way; maybe nobody really cared for her, or she had no real friends, or everybody thought she was mental, but there was one thing she knew for sure, and that was hat she was no head case. No matter how many rumors had been going on about her recently, it didn’t matter—not now at least. Because for now, she was free.

     And so she continued, leaning over the low handlebars before her as her legs pumped furiously at the black plastic pedals beneath her battered black Nikes, the chilled wind lashing relentlessly against her bare arms and face as it changed her hair from a muddy cascade to a brown fire, each clump breaking and riding it’s own way as it battled the wind. Her bike charged faster and faster through puddles and mud, shadows and sun; but nothing would stop her. Maybe she had been broken inside, damaged beyond repair, and maybe her emotions and feelings had been crushed like a piano dropped off the roof of a tall building, retching its last sickening cry through the air as it slammed into the concrete below. But that was ok now. She had thought this was near impossible to feel this way recently—this was something not even her wildest dream could begin to conjure. But here she was…As good as flying.

     Her troubles detached themselves and flew off in the wind that was pushing her hair back—not disappearing, but rather being pushed back, forced to hover away from her, impatiently waiting until she rested her feet on firm ground again to try to overwhelm her. But even that realization couldn’t bother her now. She was free. It was so impossible, she had been broken, she reasoned, so how could this be happening? To feel this way…It was like a bird flying with broken wings.