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|Captive Wings (youngsters:science fiction, 5832 words)|
|Author: Loren||Added: Jan 24 2008||Views/Reads: 9715/1635||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Veronica knows she isn't supposed to go near her father's portfolio. But she has to know who she is...|
Captive Wings Loren John Presley The warm fire was burning out. In front of the hearth's diminishing warm glow, the silhouetted figure of a woman...with wings protruding from her shoulders...sat hunched over a desk with papers in her hands. As the thick darkness in the room slowly engulfed her form, she pressed the papers closer to her face. She was trying to make sense of them, all while the shadows stretched creepily across the room. She wondered if... “Veronica!” Lennard's voice yelled from the basement. “Are you in bed?!” *** The pink morning horizon glowed mellowly, resting comfortably under the sky and the clouds. An autumn breeze brushed the dark green plants of the wide plains. Whitney paced acros the side of the ramshackle house in her bare feet, letting the breeze run through her long hair as she calmly faced the sunrise. The ruined door to the house opened, and Whitney turned to see her twin sister emerge, recently awoken. “Good morning, Veronica,” Whitney greeted. Veronica's eyes winced as she turned toward the east to meet eyes with her sister. She ran across the deck, leaped over the rail and her wings sailed her gently to the ground next to her sister. The twins looked down at the grass together. Whitney looked into her sister's face, somehow different today. Veronica kept staring at the grass, watching as the wind brushed it all around. Whitney felt something ominous. She was suddenly uncertain of whether she should talk to her sister or not. Shortly, however, Veronica faced her. “Whitney?” she said softly, then held her tongue, thinking twice. “What is it?” her sister asked. “Can we get farther away from the house, just a little?” Both jumped and sailed twenty feet before their feet met the ground again. They stood in the face of the sun, poor and meek, dressed in withered ragged gowns. A flock of white birds migrated overhead, catching the twins' attention. The two young ladies looked at them in some gentle, humble envy, something they had done at the sight of birds since they were very young. “Whitney...” Veronica began, gazing up and taking a few steps, suddenly seeming like herself again, “wouldn't in be fun if we could stay in the air as long as we wanted to, like the birds? Wouldn't it be fun to fly?” “But we can't fly, Veronica,” Whitney objected. “Our wings are clipped. Remember?” “But don't you ever wonder what that means?” Veronica said, and faced the sun again. Whitney bowed her head for a moment, then knelt down in the grass, Veronica kneeling down afterward. The sun's radiant, golden glow lustered them as they sat dreamily. They watched the birds flap away in the distance. It was forbidden, Veronica knew, to look at her father's portfolio. But the years had gone by and she had seen it sitting on her father's desk ominously time after time, calling her to go and open; to see what was Click here to read the rest of this story (755 more lines)
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