When Wings Break

Here We GoThe wide wings created a shadow over Central Park, casting wary eyes upward. Everyone knew when danger lurked; this time it was a six-foot nine tall hunk with the wingspan to dwarf anyone who thought himself lesser. The younglings grew quieter, the tourists exclaimed with awe, and cameras somehow remembered to keep flashing. Zane scoffed. “Show off,” Bunny laughed beside them. Sure enough, Christophe Hansson hovered by flapping his wings to keep him suspended in the air as he planned his descent. It created gusts of air that blew at anything and everything, including a few vendors’ stall merchandises. They were sure to complain loud enough for keen wing kin hearing to pick up. “Think he remembered to pre-book?” “Alright. Children!” Zane lifted his arms and extended his wings, tips aiming higher for a brighter signal. A mostly browned sheen, he was as ordinary a Second Level Wingspan as Bunny, but still remarkable when he’d finally hit puberty and stopped molting. “Walk on over there. Don’t want Christophe landing on someone that looks an awful lot like a shiny stone.” A few children laughed. The twins turned to him with eyes that said ‘you’re surely not our brother’. “Will Christophe be in my team?” a young brown-winged to-be jumped with eager hands. A few ruffs here and there and he’d be proud of those nicely sized wings in no time. “For the last time, Sheldon,” a girl black-winged rolled her eyes as she finally took her eyes from a cell phone ever buzzing off. “There’s no team, and no one wants to be anything with you in it.” Sheldon’s wings lowered, a few children snickering. “Hey! That’s not nice to say,” Bunny chuffed. “All you who laughed are getting five minutes deducted.” “What?” “And you, little Miss All-of-It, you’re getting double off.” “What? Why?” she stomped her foot, brows pulling down in a scowl no doubt meant to intimidate. “I did not pay for a time out. And it’s just the truth.” “It’s also just the truth we have rules, rules you promised to abide to,” Saleh intervened, walking around the girl to stand in front of her. “One of those rules, if I remember correctly, was something to do with devices?” She looked from one to the other. “But--” “No buts, please,” Saleh left his hand extended. “Would you like another extra extracted? It would make for a rather lonely flight, especially with Bunny for company.” “Hey!” the gust of wind was strong enough to undo Saleh’s five-hour standing hairdo. Christophe planted himself on an iron lamp post, crouching with wings stretched out and muscles rippling under a pair of air-breeze pants, biceps exposed by virtue of grey vest. “Bunny maketh goodeth… companeth?” Laughter enclosed the open air space, from both spectators and children. “Please don’t be Shakespeare,” Saleh sighed. “I’ll have you know, here, here,” Christophe brought his wings closer as he stood, showing off a unique trick of balance. Trick because Christophe enjoyed playing with his body to discover what else he could manage. “Shakespearean poetry is like farting in an evening wind…” Saleh scoffed. He met russet eyes that winked in shared mirth, discovering he had been had. Saleh cleared his throat. “That’s our queue to get going, children,” he began to turn. On the last moment, he remembered the black-winged. She pulled out her lower lip, eyes widening as her blinking grew exponentially more. “What about the sights? Aren’t there pretty things I can take pictures with?” Then you should have paid for a cruise. Saleh could be stern. It was part of his get-there-quick persona. ‘Do it and end it and be done with it’, was his motto. He sighed. “Listen. Ebony, right?” she nodded eagerly. “I’d like to let you, I really would, but what we’re doing, what we’ll be doing every time you come here, it’s not something for play. We teach you how to use your wings, how to navigate treacherous winds, use your most sensitive primaries to tell when a fog’s coming on, or where the lightning will strike.” Do you really want to draw lightening to you with some overly expensive gizmo that can fry you up like roast chicken on a hot summer day? Christophe's sharp grin appeared bluntly from the corner of his eyes, now doing some impressive handstand to show off how remarkably toned his body is. Some of the children were right there with him. “How about a test run?” She eyed him suspiciously at his change of topic. “Test run?” Saleh grinned, feeling his own wings unfurl. “The Manhattan tower’s about five minutes away. For a slowpoke,” he added to sweeten the pot. Ebony huffed. “Who’re you calling a slowpoke?” “Hm? I haven’t called you one.” He stepped away as her wings rustled, revealing hidden coffee splotches in the tips. Well-groomed, neatly stacked; she was a regular at Salisbury, he could bet. “Yet.” “Fine. What’re the stakes? Wait. If, no, when I win, I get five minutes before take-off.” Her brows lifted higher. “With Christophe?” “My name?” the big guy walked over on hands, children behind him giggling as they played with the wonderful physiology that made a grown man as light as a down feather. Sometimes Saleh was sure he was as airheaded as the waves he thrived on surfing. “Sh.” Bunny hissed where she’d begun writing off names of children. “I’m trying to pretend to be a responsible adult as well as listen to the ultimate thrashing of a teen. Hey. When you’re my age then you can judge me. Name please,” she asked of the giggling fifteen-year-old in front of her. “I’m not going to be thrashed. First flight with Christophe for, um… What do old people ask for as birthday gifts?” Saleh felt his smile widen, wings uncurling even wider as a telltale shiver rustled his feathers down to his spine. “No more gadgets, no more mean words.” “That’s two.” “Want three?” “Two’s lovely, old person.” Ebony dropped her phone into a fanny pack around her waist, zipping it shut with a resounding sound. “Get your wings ready. Over to the tower, and back. Timed and marked by Christophe.” “I’m right here,” Bunny waved her pen in the air. “Sorry. Repeat that, love?” she bent over to listen closer to the new child in front of her. “Sammy with a single or double?” Ebony rolled her eyes. “You don’t like me. I want Christophe.” Everyone wants Christophe and Christophe doesn’t want anyone. Saleh looked to the skies. A pair of gargoyles was currently marching along one of the Manhattan Skyline towers. This far away, their grappling for the same spot was going to become a rather nasty difficulty to get through. He glanced at the girl. He shook his head. “We going or you too scared of a little girl?” Ebony flapped her wings. They were remarkably wide. With four years and two molts, she’d soon become a Third Level Wingspan. Under the sun, the darker feathers captured sunlight in a way reminiscent of Christophe’s wings. The bronco appeared with an appreciative whistle. “Lovely span, girlie,” he reached for a primary before pausing. “May I?” Ebony blushed showing pale skin a contrast to the red splotches. “O-Okay.” “Um,” Saleh began. He needn’t have worried. Christophe reached for a secondary instead. “Lovely polish. Decent strength in there for start. Not much of a flier, though, but that’s okay. We can work out those muscles and turn you into a raven worth her dazzle, yes?” Ebony nodded eagerly. “Right. That makes you Ebony Pierson. That’s that—Oh!” Bunny had no sooner clicked off her pen than her watch buzzed off. “Ooh, that race has to wait. Time to go.” “Wait. What?” Ebony exclaimed. “But I want to fly with Christophe, not…” Christophe laughed as the truth came through; it wasn’t as if he hadn’t known. He rustled her short hair in an affectionate Christophe way. “Not to worry. How about you all fly off with me? Last one up’s a rotten egg!” The torrent of motion, the speed of rustling wings not willing to be left behind, and the excited chirps of children discovering play and fun in a lesson; this was why he was a teacher. Saleh watched wings great and small, dark and light, carry bodies into the air. The twins grabbed two others’ hands to help them off, laughing in their excitement; Ebony was first off, showing a quickness that would aid her in the lessons ahead; and Sheldon nearly got thrown over but a wide wing reached out and cast some draft to carry him along, giving him an edge. “It’s Old Man Saleh!” Ebony called out. Even Bunny laughed because she’d at least lifted off high enough not to be the last. “Har. Har. Har. Laugh all you want,” Saleh stretched out his tendons and felt the shudder of muscles of flight coming awake with prepared energy. This was the first time the class got a look at his wings. The awestruck sounds could rustle anyone’s ego and it did his. “All packs checked? There’ll be no turning back.” Everyone looked at their wrists where five coded bands marked their cargo registration as well as names, tracking devices, and home addresses. No one called an alarm. “Then, let’s go.” He released the energy, contracting his wings with enough force to lift him up into the sky. Once, twice, each beat releasing a thick gust that overwhelmed small objects and easily moved materials; it sent him higher into the sky as perspiration pebbled on his nose. He loved it. “Forward!” Christophe called and all members prepared to align. Saleh took higher altitude, Bunny took low, and a fourth official, Roan, took back. Stern and starboard were left to the oldest children as a taste of authority. Soon they were heading through the city. The break began here. Christophe despised leaving perfectly good aerial conquests right in his front yard. Saleh watched as he motioned for a single file, diving into the narrow main avenue that would take them out of the city. His wings were wide enough for the street which meant no one should be complaining. Yet. Up and down they went with his dives and turns followed by cheering and excited delinquents, unaware they followed their own. “All good?” he called back. Saleh kept a close watch from above. A massive audience turned and watched, most, if not all, aware of who led the charge. The children were ecstatic. “Going to crank it up now. Buses!” “Christophe!” Saleh shouted. It was too late. “Narrow squeeze, perfect glide. On three!” Saleh couldn’t stop it even if he could. He dove with the intention of the very least blocking the charge. It didn’t work as he’d hoped. He over calculated his dive, wings expanding over the children as he glided further only to find himself edging Christophe. They were neck and neck as the dual buses came closer to the meeting point; one went ahead and the other came forward along their path. “Christophe! No!” He looked to Saleh, grin wide and fanged. “Come to try it with me, Saleh? Shall we show them?” No. Too late; they were on par, neck, and neck. Saleh’s heartbeat increased, perspiration now more on the back of his neck. “Remember! Tuck, drift, and fly!” Drift was the most peaceful feeling of Saleh’s life. No flapping followed after the command, appropriate momentum reached and wing feathers cutting through the air and singing over the finest fibers of his wings as he found his center of altitude and momentum. He could break barriers with this feeling, could become a billionaire for the simple bliss within. “I call--” Oh no, you don’t! “Anti!” He didn’t give Christophe time to argue. This was the lesson of the flight passed on or learned the hard way. When one wing was unexpectedly tucked in, a wing kin would turn in the direction of the heavier wing. Saleh dropped his left-wing and rolled anti-clockwise with the sudden difference in wings. He still had his center in place as he tucked in the second wing after the turn had begun.  He reached one hundred and eighty degrees, perfect angle, and then he unfurled his wings. They came apart like linen sheets on a windy day. Back to back, Saleh and Christophe drifted between the pair of buses to the awe of unwitting spectators. Christophe howled, and just for the thrill of his primaries stroking the ground, he followed suit. Christophe’s grin was triumphant. He’d been had. Saleh’s stay-away-from-Christophe’s policy had gone to smithereens in a matter of seconds, and now he was stuck with either withdrawing and missing this thrill, or continuing and finding more joy. Well, there was a last for everything. “Triple turn, people!” If Christophe was surprised with the increase of speed he put on, Saleh didn’t notice. The wind rustled down his wings, his favorite thing to do simply for the sake of doing it. He would race Christophe until he was sated and happy. All good things came to an end.   “Still going to pretend to be demure Saleh?” Christophe asked. The camp was settling now, everyone exhausted out after the gruesome race. It had been slight for the long wing veterans such as the counselors. As for the fletchlings, more had learned the amazing value of drift early on. Roan walked in between the laid down children, ticking off concerns. “Pretend?” Saleh lowered down his water bottle without drinking from it. He found Christophe grinning, hands covered in glucose powder. “One. That had better not be the children’s energy stash. Two. I’m not pretending.” “Sure you aren’t,” he drawled, licking up some more powder. His tongue was pink. “Just like you are not pretending to be quiet or patient. Or easy going.” Saleh brought his bottle to his mouth. He was not pretending. He did not pretend. If something needed doing, or getting done, he made it get done. Saleh felt his wings rise. “I’ve upset you.” “I’m not upset.” “Oh?” Christophe came closer, towering over him in wingspan and height. “Why are your wings tensed?” “Stop reading my wing behavior and go get a shower.” His mother had said he was as expressive as they came. He glanced at Christophe, only to find his brows pulled down as he looked confusedly at Saleh. “What? Me?” he pinched his vest and brought it up to his nose. “But I put cologne. I’m clean. I even showered this morning.” His n*****s had become exposed with the rustle of material. Saleh pulled the shirt down. “So you do admit to not showering sometimes.” Christophe only grinned, dimpled chin and gap-toothed smile too bright on this supposed to be a normal day of normal seasons. Saleh looked away. “Try not to shatter anyone’s innocence while you’re at it,” he grumbled, smacking the dodo-brained man on the abdomen as he walked away. Saleh felt hard ridges beneath, heat as boiling in this sun as should be for a full-blooded wing kin male. Saleh walked away without further complaints or words, feeling his hands tingle with growing awareness. Last season. He could do this.