9/11: A Short Story
354 Words2 Pages
When I was a kid, I wished I had wings.
There was this one time the nurse at my school asked all of us what our dream was.
I was in sixth grade.
Every kid in my class had written down their dream job.
Doctor.
Lawyer.
Teacher.
Star player.
Flyer.
I wanted to fly.
“like taking the plane?”
“no, with my own wings”
It sounds kind of childish now that I think about it. But that shit didn’t matter back then.
It was my wish.
It was everything I dreamt about.
Back then, I was so sure that, at some point in the future, I would be able to fly.
Sometimes, I still have that dream.
Young me wanted wings for the fun of it.
Older me wants them to fly high, high above everything: above my problems, above my insecurities, above my oh so suffocating
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