Waiting

You sit there on the rooftop with him, overlooking the abandoned city in silence. Neither of you have spoken before, neither of you knew you were siblings until now. His hand extends toward the sun and plucks it from the sky, cupping it in either palm before gently blowing. An array of doves and seagulls take flight from his hands, feathers and flapping taking up all the space between the two of you. They seize the sunlight, and you now both sit in the shade of night, the plumage taking shape as stars far above your grasp.

You reach to take the moon but he stops you, a strong hand on your wrist, and for the first time you can remember he actually looks you in the eye. It unnerves you how you see yourself in him, and how he’s unnerved with seeing himself in you.

“You can’t take that,” he whispers, and you don’t understand why not.

“But you took the sun, you set it free.” He only shakes his head.

“Some things are born free, others are not.”

He says it as if he knows by experience.

“Do you… do you remember before any of this?” He looks away from you when he asks, and you try to think about your answer.

Your mind fills with fog, and the skies above grow overcast with thick, grey clouds.

Uncomfortable, you shift above the gravel. “I… no, I can’t say I do. Why?”

“What is the chance that we’ll ever meet? Really meet? That either one of us is real in this world?”

It begins to sprinkle, but only he is wet. You look up and it’s raining, but the clouds are gone, only the moon is in the sky now.

“Do you sometimes dream of flying?”

“Why are you asking all of this?”

He’s grabbing your shoulders but there’s no pressure to his hold, even though you can see he’s straining his arms.

“You can fly; you can go so many places that I cannot. I’m trapped here, waiting, biding my time. I’m caught in indecision and fear, but you never second guess yourself. You just open your wings and go. How can you do that? How can you leave me behind so easily?”

You back away from him and he doesn’t follow. “What are you talking about?”

“Look up.”

The expression on his face is that of resignation, a blank sense of sorrow that’s been hollowed out by years of patience. He doesn’t even shift his gaze from your face when he points his finger above, to the sky. You look.

Millions of birds are circling overhead, funneling down from the moon and descending upon the two of you. He doesn’t duck when they flood the roof, stiller than a statue as the swarm of doves and seagulls flutter about.

“This is all you’ve ever been; frantic and scared and shapeless, a pair of wings with no destination; you simply go. I’ve tried to reach you, spent years piecing everything together so we could share these idle moments, but I don’t think this will ever work out. Your wings are too perfect, and mine, they are too broken.”

Between the haze of feathers and crying you can see him standing, stubs of white peering from behind his back. His gnarled wings are stained red from the scabs that span over them, and they quiver limply when he notices you staring. You stand as well, and realize that you too have a pair of wings of your own. They’re twice your size when spread out, and shiver slightly with a single thought.

You don’t even notice when he pushes you, and you begin to fall from the roof.

You wake up before the impact. Staring at the ceiling of your bedroom, you see the small, glowing sticker of the moon peering back at you. In the distance is the cry of mourning doves, and you wonder if you really do have a sibling out there, waiting.