When I was little, I learned how to fly. It was easier than you would think.
I was walking home from school one day, and it started to rain.
It was really pouring. Cats and dogs.
The storm started to really pick up. I had trouble even walking.
And then, the wind.
My God, the wind…
The wind caught my jacket, and lifted me up. Right off my feet.
I forgot about the rain.
I forgot about everything.
The ground was beneath me, and I couldn’t steady myself—couldn’t figure out which way was up. I was flying through the air, and all I could think about was the last time the wind was this strong. Had I ever been lifted up like this before? By the wind? I felt like I was falling upward.
I moved my arms rapidly, seemingly without effect. My feet were swinging in every direction. Rain was stinging my face, but it felt like it was coming from everywhere. Then I was face-down, and I twisted and turned my body until I saw the sidewalk under me, and I panicked. I flattened out, but in the air. I closed my eyes and winced, thinking about how hard I would hit the ground. When I opened my eyes a second later, the sidewalk was far beneath me. I was somehow moving away from it.
I was moving up. Into the sky.
I was flying.
Nothing was ever the same again.