I Look Up and They Look Down

I jumped. I jumped, and then I stretched my fingers to the clouds and prayed their touch would be worth it.

Flying is all well and good, but no one talks about how rough the landing can be.

            “You suck, bro.”

            Grunting, I struggled to my feet without acknowledging my companion. My body felt as if it were covered in one giant, pulsing bruise, but I gritted my teeth against its throbbing. Today I would succeed, had to succeed. I only had a week left.

            “You’re going again? Just give it up, bro. You’re never gonna fly in time for the exam.”

            “Shut up,” I muttered darkly as I climbed the hot metal ladder for the fourth time in as many hours. The fly platform’s wooden support beams creaked under my weight as I ascended.

            Everyone in my family, in the whole world, could fly. Even my five year old baby sister filled our home with mocking laughter on a daily basis as she floated from room to room. That I, a sixteen year old, had never managed to hover met with sad eyes and cruel whispers. I would soon be one of them. I knew it in my bones. One day I would touch the clouds.

            “You’re just gonna hurt yourself again, bro.”

            “Shut up, Sparks!” I shouted down at the droid from my perch fifteen feet above.

            The companion droid let out a metallic sound not unlike an exacerbated sigh and swiveled its shiny domed head from side to side. Inching closer to the edge of the four by five platform, I took a moment to stick my tongue out at my friend before sucking in a deep, steadying breath. Below me the rubber landing pad glistened in the summer heat, waiting for me to belly flop onto its surface once more.

            “Not this time. Not this time, for sure, “ I promised it, bouncing on the balls of my feet.

            “It’s starting to get dark,” Sparks chimed just as I braced to make the jump, “We should head home soon, or we’ll miss curfew.”

            I regained my balance and gasped down, “Screw the curfew! Nobody gets in trouble for being five minutes over.”

            I would never admit that jumping frightened me. The ground always seemed to rush towards me, as if it could smell my approach and wanted to devour me. I stood looking down at it, feeling as if I could almost see it breathing, waiting for its next morsel. Swallowing against the knot of anxiety in my throat, I forced myself to shake off the dark feelings. Flying had to be fearless. I could be fearless. I could.

            “Remember to keep your eyes open this time, bro!” Sparks called up in a rare example of encouragement.

            “Right. Eyes open,” I nodded and pulled another full breath in just as a soft breeze plucked at my hair.

            Taking this as a sign, I braced my muscles and leapt with all my remaining strength. My jump took me up and away from the safety of the platform, and I willed the wind to catch beneath me, for my body to stay aloft. Hope lifted its head in my heart and licked its parched lips as cool air washed over me and pulled at my jumpsuit, but it died in an instant as gravity wrapped a vice-like hand around my middle and dragged me back down to the earth with a crunching crash.

            The landing hit me harder than usual, knocking the breath from my lungs and scraping my hands and knees raw on impact. Coughing, I lifted myself up onto all fours and took stock of my new wounds. My left tennis shoe definitely felt tighter as my now twisted ankle began to swell, and my hands and knees throbbed with the loss of two layers of skin. A familiar shame fell over my shoulders with the thickness of a winter blanket, smothering my last spark of hope under its weight.

            “Come on, bro…” Sparks whirred, bumping his cylindrical body against my right heel, “Let’s head home.”

            “Yeah. Home,” I sighed, dreading to my core the walk back just as much as the arrival.

            Standing with some effort, I fought a wince and patted Sparks on the head. The droid whistled happily and started towards the park entrance. Following behind at a slower pace, I glumly dipped my head and let my mind wonder in its usual way.

            Today brought me no closer to flying than any day before it. I walked the three miles to the park daily, ignoring strangers that flew by overhead. Often, they paused to observe the walker below them while others sneered openly and slowed to call down taunts and names. I took the stares and abuse without reducing my pace. My inability to fly gave me an infamous reputation around town, and anyone that observed me making my slow way down the old road knew me on sight as the “Sprite without Flight”. The terrible name was a gift given by my older brother at the age of six, and it stuck, forever branding me an outsider. Very few people knew my name anymore.

            “Morgan!”
            Caught completely by surprise, I stopped just short of walking face first into a pole. As if reading my mind, Crystalia, my only friend in the world, hailed me cheerfully as she swooped down to land beside me. I willed a smile to my face at her graceful arrival and ducked behind my bangs. At least three new scrapes still stung on my chin and cheeks, and I did not want her to see them just yet. My avoidance came too late, and her thin hand darted out to grab my jaw and tilt my face towards the sun.

            “You were trying to fly again!” She said, her plucked eyebrows knitting together in frustration.

            Today her furrowed eyebrows flashed bright blue from behind hot pink hair cropped short. I ducked my head further as my defense mechanisms kicked in against the accusation. Peeking out through my bangs, I noticed this week she had tiny planets swirling within her green irises, and their spinning picked up pace as her eyes narrowed. Before her lecture on safety and helmets could begin a shadow fell over us from above.

            “Curfew is in ten minutes, you two,” An officer warned, her stern expression peering down at us from a few feet above our heads.

            We nodded, lowering our eyes to the ground as was proper. The policewoman huffed and flew away, her shiny armor blinding in the waning light of the evening sun. I took the momentary distraction to my advantage and started power walking away before Crystalia could start in on me again. My old friend called after me, but I ignored her. My brain knew well enough that she had nothing to do with my failures today, but my heart held too much shame to face her.

            “Don’t think you’re gonna get away without a piece of my mind, you!” She panted after catching up.

            Like most flyers, Crystalia lacked speed on the ground, and it had taken her several moments to catch up to me. Secretly, I loved that. On two legs she could never beat me. Still, unlike everyone else that tried to force friendship, she always took care to walk beside me when she spent time with me. It took years, but I slowly grew to trust her.

            “…gonna brain yourself one day!” She ranted on, and I did my best to listen to her, “Don’t you even worry about dying?”

            Crystalia wanted me to fly almost as much as I did, but she demanded I take precautions against falling. Every new bruise, scrape, and cut added fuel to her fire, and each lecture became a little more biting than the last. She meant well, but I hated the training suits she wanted so badly for me to wear. They were too small, made for children that had not quite mastered the art of avoiding poles, and I found having to put them on ridiculous and insulting. Once, only once, I listened to her. A group of kids from school ran across me that day. Their laughter followed me in nightmares for weeks.

            She would never be allowed to know.

            “Are you even listening?!”
            “Mm?” I nodded without looking at her, “Totally.”

            We reached my road and stood under the street light that flickered a few feet from my house. The lights always came on early so that when the sun sank below the horizon the streets were already brightened against the darkness of night. The lamp nearest my home leaned severely to the left and seemed perpetually on the brink of going out.

            “What did I say?”
            “I’m an idiot and should wrap myself in four layers of bubble wrap before I walk outside.” I retorted, but my voice lacked inflection.

            “That’s not even close, bro,” Sparks spoke up for the first time, “She said that you won’t pass the exam if you’re dead.”

            “Thanks, Sparks,” I muttered.

            “You’re going to get hurt, Morgan,” Crystalia all but whispered, the softening of her tone instantly regaining my attention.

            “I have to keep trying…” I answered her seriously, at last feeling sheepish about worrying her.

            “I know you want to get out of the academy,” She began, and I tried to ignore the twist of hate in my gut at its mention as she continued, “but throwing your life away isn’t the way to do it.”

            “If I don’t jump, I won’t fly. End of story.” I shook my head, annoyed that we had reached the same tired impasse.

            “Why can’t you-“

            The first warning bell interrupted whatever Crystalia wanted to say, the high pitched sound vibrating through the ground beneath us. My old friend shook her head in defeat and gave me a quick hug. I returned it a heartbeat later, breathing in her lilac perfume as if it could somehow give me the strength to face my family. She let go first, pushing me out to arm’s length to regard me soberly. Her dimples caved in as she frowned and searched my face long enough to make me shift from foot to foot and look away.

            “Just…be careful. For me, if not for you.”

            I nodded my promise and shrugged her hands off before she could see the tears threatening to fall. With a soft sigh she tensed and took off, moving quickly so as to make it home in time for the final bell. I stood there a moment longer, wiping my eyes while Sparks whirred by my feet. My house loomed a few steps away, its high windows alight with the glowing signs of people within. A ladder, roughly put together from gathered scraps of metal and wood, stood out glaringly against the white washed walls of the two storied building. I grew tired of climbing the oak tree in our back yard to reach my room and built it despite my mother’s complaints.

            I walked to it slowly, dreading every step that took me closer. Too soon I placed my right foot on the first rung. The ladder creaked as I put my weight on it, effectively announcing my arrival to the entire household. I could almost feel the sense of foreboding emanating from the living room that waited above me. I pushed off the ground anyway and made my steady ascent upwards. The ladder broke the silence alone, as if the impending night were holding its breath for me.

            Nobody had walked or driven anywhere in more than twenty generations, and so six hundred years ago architects starting raising up the entrances of buildings. The practice became so fashionable that now to reach the first floor of almost any building you had to go downstairs, and most skyscrapers had a landing platform every third floor. For a person that could not fly, visiting anyone became a game of parkour. I tried to view the added exercise as a plus, reminding myself that I would be just as scrawny and unfit as everyone else if I had it any easier.

            I paused at the top of the landing to let Sparks catch up, taking in one last breath of fresh air. The little companion droid whistled a happy tune to itself as its rotary blades took it slowly up to the platform. Crickets began to chirp around me, playing their violins mournfully. Did they have crickets that could not fly? Sure they would ostracize them, too. Or perhaps, in a society as simple as a bug’s, no one cared.

            Something shifted in the room beyond the front door, bringing me back into focus. I glanced at my wrist monitor; thirty seconds until final bell. I could not postpone any longer, and I placed my hand against the scanner next to the door with a heavy sigh. It whirred and clicked as it scanned the chip in my palm, deciding if I had permission to enter. At some length the light above the door turned green with a ding. The front door slid up, allowing me inside. I stepped forward, wanting to be beyond the threshold before the bell, and met with the narrowed eyes of my mother.

            “Where have you been all day?”

            “I went for a walk.”

            “You’ve chores, and who gave you permission to take Helper with you?” She demanded as the little machine put away its rotary blades behind me.

            She always called Sparks by its brand name, refusing outright to call it “Sparks”. With an old stab of bitterness I thought that if my brother or sister had named the droid she would not have hesitated to take it on. Dwelling on my mother’s favoritism did nothing, so I shrugged at her and moved to walk around her thin frame. She stepped into my path, coming close enough for her perfume to assault my senses. Great. Putting on perfume meant that mother had been smoking again, and that meant father would be livid somewhere in the house. Mother only smoked after they fought.

            “Dishes. Now. Then homework,” She mandated, pointing at the door to the kitchen.

            Her boney fingers were covered by silk gloves, their pale pink color complimenting nicely the pale skin of her arm. On her slim frame hung a floor length, cotton pink gown that hugged her angular body as loosely as it might hang on a corpse. Her face might have been pretty once, but her extremely sharp cheekbones and narrow eyes swam in a sea of wrinkles now. Her black hair seemed to cling to her scalp for dear life, so tightly did she bind it into its bun, and the only life that seemed to dwell in her whole knobby body shone in the resentment that festered behind her chocolate brown eyes.

            I shrugged again but turned and went through the door indicated. The dishes were piled up in both sinks, and I thanked whatever god may be watching. The more dishes I had to wash, the longer it would take to finish. If I had chores nobody bothered me. The low thumping of a base drum vibrated through the floor, telling me that my brother Damian could be found downstairs practicing for his next gig. I pulled my earphones from my pocket and shoved the cordless shells into my ears. The world instantly became quiet enough to hear my own heartbeat as I rolled my standard issue brown sleeves back and tapped the control screen over the sink.

            It flickered into life, offering a whole menu of options. If I wanted to I could have pressed the “wash” button, and the washing machine would throw out its arms to do my job for me. Mother liked hand washed dishes and claimed that the machines never got them as clean as old fashioned elbow grease. In actuality, she only wanted to make sure that I could be placed out of sight at almost any given time, and she often threw clean dishes in with the dirty ones when she had guests over to lengthen the time taken.

            “Dishwashing fluid dispensing.”

            I steadied my breath as a thin nozzle came out of the wall and poured soap onto my waiting sponge. I knew the words so well I could have recited them at the exact moment they were said even if I could not hear them.

            I pressed the button for hot water and began, enjoying the silence that my earphones brought without bothering to play any music. Washing dishes actually became relaxing over time. I never complained at having to do them and even offered to when I needed time to myself. Thoughts of the exam floated to the forefront of my mind as I worked, and I felt a familiar hopelessness leaden my limbs.

            While other sixteen year olds were attending advanced lessons at the Institute for Higher Aviation, I had no choice but to continue year after year with the toddlers at Aviator’s Academy. To advance meant to pass the final exam. Aggravatingly simple, it only asked the children to fly through an obstacle course half a mile long that included such things as flying through large pipes and weaving through a line of flag poles. Every single year I failed to make it off the platform, but this year had to be different. In a month I turned seventeen, the age at which you legally become an adult, and to be the only grown adult in the entire world that could not fly meant a lifetime of shame for my entire family.

            Footsteps pounded into the room behind me, but I paid them no mind. By their weight they could only be my father’s or Damien’s. I prayed the latter and kept my head down as I worked. The steps moved closer, and a great shadow fell over me. With a sinking stomach I knew the only man it could belong to. Just as this realization hit home a large hand closed around my shoulder and spun me around. My father stood fuming, shouting something muted into my face. Wracked with new fear, I pulled the buds from my ears too quickly and dropped one. It bounced off of my foot with a soft clink, and I instinctively bent to pick it up.

            “Don’t you ignore me!” My father boomed, yanking me back upright with the hand that still held my shoulder in a vise grip.

            “I’m sorry! I couldn’t hear you, sir!”

            “Where were you all day long?” He demanded, shaking me so hard my teeth chattered.

            “I went to the park after school,” I confessed, looking anywhere but into his black eyes, “but I never meant to lose track of time.”

            My father lived by one set of rules: his own. As a general of Nallion’s standing army, the giant man had a certain way of viewing the world. I did not fit into this image. Standing just an inch shy of seven feet tall, the barrel chested man drove terror into any with the misfortune of meeting him in battle. I could not blame the people that ran from him, knowing all too well the imposing figure he struck when in full, golden armor. Each hairy arm rippled with muscle that flexed now as he held me, and I dared not look up at his rugged face as he peered down at me with beady black eyes and furrowed brow.

            “You almost missed curfew,” His gruff voice went quiet, “Do you understand what punishment you would have been given?”

            “T-two day confinement?”

            “TWO DAY CONFINEMENT FOR MY OWN CHILD!”

            His voice hit my eardrums with the force of a sonic boom, and I had just enough time to suck in a frightened gasp before he twisted and threw me bodily across the room. I landed amongst the dining table’s chairs, breaking on with a thrashing leg and hitting the tiled floor with enough force to instantly wind me. I lay there gasping, not daring to move. My father breathed heavily for several moments, his greased hair falling in strands into his face, before exhaling loudly and straightening his already immaculate shirt.

            “I won’t do it again! Please!” I begged him when he took a step toward me, throwing up my hands and squirming away.

            My back ached dully where I landed, and my left leg stung where a wooden splinter cut through my pants and pierced my leg. He stopped a foot or so short, noticeably within striking range, and glared down at me with disappointment. I tried to stare at his army boots as meekly as possible through my gasping, and for a long, terrible moment the labored sound of my lungs sucking in air continued uninterrupted.

            “I’m a very patient man, Morgan.” He finally said, his voice more or less under control now.

            I resisted the urge to relax, knowing the man well enough to know that I had not made it to safe water just yet.

            “Am I a patient man?”

            I nodded, fighting the tears that pricked my eyes. Tears meant weakness and guaranteed another attack.

            “I won’t be much longer,” He promised, kneeling down on one knee to breathe his next words into my face with stale whiskey breath.

            “If you don’t pass that exam in a week, you won’t have a home to come to.”

            “Yes, sir! I’ll definitely pass, sir!” I moaned into the floor, lowering myself as far as I could.

            “Good. Finish your chores,” He grunted, “and get the Helper to put that chair back together.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            He left just as quickly as he came, leaving me to my pains. Against the throbbing of my injured side, I called out for Sparks. The droid showed up within a minute and hooted in synthetic shock at my pathetic predicament. I ignored its fluttering and asked it to bring me what I needed to bind my leg. It obeyed quickly, but not without a moment taken to shake its domed head at me. As if by some sarcastic miracle there were no splinters to remove, and within five minutes my leg had a fresh bandage covering the cut there.

            Struggling to my feet, I made my slow way back to the sink and stooped to pick up my lost earphone. Placing it in my pocket, I started the dishes again without the usual silence. I should have known coming home so close to curfew would be disastrous, but I just had to get a few more attempts in. My leg and hip now suffered for my folly.

            Twenty minutes later I placed the last bowl into the cupboard with the others and leaned back on my heels. By now the night had begun in earnest. I would not be done with homework until well after eleven. On top of the academy I still had regular school, which meant that I had to face the kids my age every weekday. Most of the time I stuck to myself, hiding from all but Crystalia. They sought me out anyway to remind me of my grounded fate. I kept my earphones in whenever I could if only to drown their mocking voices out.

            At a quarter to twelve I finally closed my school book and put it away. The stairs proved particularly difficult to descent that night, my stiff knees making each step a danger, but I managed with a lot of help from the handrail. My bedroom called to me, and I went to it with a heavy heart. Inside, I collapsed onto the floor and let go. Every failed jump, every curious glance and wicked smile came out of me in gut wrenching sobs that I quieted against the carpeted floor. My entire body cried out with each wretched breath, my heart beat a painful knot in my throat.

            Sometime later the tears ran dry, and I pushed myself back onto my feet. Stumbling blindly to the mirror, I leaned against it and took in the pitiful person that blinked back at me. The girl scowled, her puffy lips dry and cracked, with light brown, bloodshot eyes. Her hair, black as the darkest night, stood up and out in all directions as if she did not own a brush. Three fresh cuts glistened wetly along her right cheek. Dozens of similar marks covered her face and neck from previous jumps, some still scabs and others pale white scars. The dark olive tone of her skin only served to make the lines stand out more starkly, shocking any that looked at her face unprepared. The scars traveled down her slender neck to disappear underneath a plain brown jumpsuit that clung too tightly to her lean, muscular body. She looked battle warn, and maybe she was. A slender hand lifted to rest against mine, blocked from actually touching by the barrier of the mirror. Slowly, she opened her mouth and spoke the same words she had spoken every night for sixteen years.

            “Tomorrow. Tomorrow for sure. 

Author's Note

I know that this is really long, but I was given a challenge to make a feeling into a physical thing. I took my feelings of being left out and turned it into this. Please, please be as blunt as need be!

Reviews

[Dawn Dreamer]

I thought it was incredible! The length was just about right for me, but I don't mind its being long. I actually prefer long stories to short ones. It gives you more time to actually settle into the plot. I like your writing a lot, and I'm looking forward to reading the rest of your stories. As a matter of fact, I'm on my way to your profile to read another!! :)

[Briana]

Thank you do very much!! I'm absolutely going to return the favor!

[Dawn Dreamer]

Thank you so much!

[BlackenedLight]

Wow, what a very sad story! It was very well written, and it really did to seem to make the emotions of the character tangible. This is really a unique story and a very creative one at that. The incredible amount of emotion behind the words is evident in the piece. Very well done.

[Briana]

Thank you so very much! I see you've a book on here! Allow me time to get home from work and I'll gladly settle in for some reading! I feel I still have a lot of work to do on this one, so I may end up temporarily taking it down while I do so. Thanks again!

[Lavorther]

It indeed is a bit long, but i didn't mind. Your stories are very interesting to read. You write in a very simple way without the difficult words that you sometimes see other writers use. That makes it very easy to follow the story and reads faster too.

One small point of critique: The droid does say "bro" quite a lot, and it irritated me a little bit. Unless that is what you intended, you might want to remove some of it, or replace it with similar words.

[Briana]

Thank you so much!! I'm so pleased that you enjoyed it, and though I agree the poor companion droid says that a lot, I did it on purpose. I figured a robot wouldn't catch redundancy or how often saying someone's name is appropriate. I tried to use his dialogue to further the idea that he's not human.

[Rafael Najae]

Well I didn't read it all but it's very impressive. You capture a moment very well and it pulls you in more and more into the story. It's easy to read, and it flows. It was just a little too long for me to finish at the moment. To be blunt I didn't find anything I would revise; but I'll come back to this later and read the rest. I thought I was very engaging and I would like to finish it.

[Briana]

I'm so grateful for your kind review! I hope you have as many wonderful things to say about the rest!