"Flight."
A story I wrote for submission to a flash fiction contest. We'll see how it goes!
Flight
By Gabrielle Castillo
There was a sharp jerk, a mechanical whir and then the soft brush of late spring air across her face. She inhaled quickly, face turning up to the sky, her body tensing as the metal beneath her began to rise. Exhilaration when she felt weightless. A moment of panic.
And then flight.
Goosebumps broke up and down her arms, ancient warning response to possible danger. Her heart, though, soared high as the wind hit her face a bit faster, became more chilled, an icy breath. She thought of winter and stuck out her tongue, imagining tiny flakes of crisp snow landing there.
Her hands left the safety bar, hesitant but brave. She threaded them through the air. Wiggled her fingers, toyed and played. A smile crossed her face and then a whimper of joy. Laughter broke the dam.
"Ahhhh!"
Without warning, fingers were weaved through her own. They squeezed and she squeezed back, turning her head to share her excitement. It was her mother sitting beside her, her mother who had placed her in the seat and lowered the safety bar. Her mother who insisted she feel, just once, her insides moving inside of her, the lift of gravity for one infinite second.
And she did feel it. Every turn and tilt of the cool metal ride, the rush of voices below them, the dull hum of machinery painted an illusion of height and movement. She imagined the void of space. Flying a plane. Looking up and seeing the blue sky above her, boundless and welcoming.
And then she just felt, hearing and feeling every detail. A child crying, tinny music, a woman's laughter. With her free hand she ran her fingers across the chipping paint on the bar, a hole in the faux-leather seat. Processing information in a way she had since she was born, with hands and ears and the brain inside her head, which now felt dizzy with new senses.
Feeling the motion of flight take off inside of her, gravity displacing the need to do anything but soar.
Flight
By Gabrielle Castillo
There was a sharp jerk, a mechanical whir and then the soft brush of late spring air across her face. She inhaled quickly, face turning up to the sky, her body tensing as the metal beneath her began to rise. Exhilaration when she felt weightless. A moment of panic.
And then flight.
Goosebumps broke up and down her arms, ancient warning response to possible danger. Her heart, though, soared high as the wind hit her face a bit faster, became more chilled, an icy breath. She thought of winter and stuck out her tongue, imagining tiny flakes of crisp snow landing there.
Her hands left the safety bar, hesitant but brave. She threaded them through the air. Wiggled her fingers, toyed and played. A smile crossed her face and then a whimper of joy. Laughter broke the dam.
"Ahhhh!"
Without warning, fingers were weaved through her own. They squeezed and she squeezed back, turning her head to share her excitement. It was her mother sitting beside her, her mother who had placed her in the seat and lowered the safety bar. Her mother who insisted she feel, just once, her insides moving inside of her, the lift of gravity for one infinite second.
And she did feel it. Every turn and tilt of the cool metal ride, the rush of voices below them, the dull hum of machinery painted an illusion of height and movement. She imagined the void of space. Flying a plane. Looking up and seeing the blue sky above her, boundless and welcoming.
And then she just felt, hearing and feeling every detail. A child crying, tinny music, a woman's laughter. With her free hand she ran her fingers across the chipping paint on the bar, a hole in the faux-leather seat. Processing information in a way she had since she was born, with hands and ears and the brain inside her head, which now felt dizzy with new senses.
Feeling the motion of flight take off inside of her, gravity displacing the need to do anything but soar.