Stargate SG-1 fic: To Wish Upon the Wings of a Bird
To Wish Upon the Wings of a Bird
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Stargate SG-1
Jack
372 words
rating: G
WARNINGS:
Everyone has a past, a childhood full of memories and potential. Some people spend a lifetime figuring out what they want to do. Some know right from the start. Written for the weekly drabble challenge at writerverse. Prompt: childhood.
don't own... wish I did, but I don't. No infringement intended.
Summer 1957, somewhere in rural Minnesota
Little Johnny squatted near the edge of the pond, a long stick in one hand. He was all dirty face and scabby knees, tanned from head to foot, clothed only in cutoff jeans and a torn t-shirt. He rubbed at the sunburn on his neck, poking a fish with the stick. He watched as it quickly changed direction, trying to remember what his grampa had told him about fishing.
He hadn't really been paying attention. Fishing was boring. But the worms were cool. He remembered how they wiggled through his fingers-all slimy and gross.
Overhead a loud screech caught his attention. He stood up, a grubby hand moving to shield his eyes from the sun. A hawk circled high above. Up where the clouds floated, where the rain started. Almost to outer space.
The bird flew lazily back and forth. Johnny found himself mimicking the motion, rocking where he stood as his eyes followed the hawk. It screeched again and suddenly dove for the ground behind the tall trees that surrounded the pond. Johnny stretched his arms as far as they would go just like a bird's wings. He started running, arms out and flapping. Faster and faster, the wind blowing his hair away from his face and stealing his breath. He imagined he was a bird-up high in the sky. A mighty hawk swooping and diving for prey.
Fishing was boring. Even worms were kind of boring. But flying...
Flying was freedom. Joy. Like his birthday and Christmas all wrapped up in one thing.
He ran in circles as fast as he could until he found himself atop a small hill. He stretched his arms wide and leaped. His shirt flapped around his small body, wind in his face, toes leaving the dirt. And for a moment he was flying.
Johnny landed on his feet, curled into a ball and rolled like his daddy had taught him. When he stood up the hawk was back in the sky, soaring majestically.
Johnny watched, mesmerized. Flying. That was what he wanted. Some day he would fly for real. In a real plane, high above the ground. Just him and the birds. Free. Some day.
by jennickels (aka Jen Connelly)
Stargate SG-1
Jack
372 words
rating: G
WARNINGS:
Everyone has a past, a childhood full of memories and potential. Some people spend a lifetime figuring out what they want to do. Some know right from the start. Written for the weekly drabble challenge at writerverse. Prompt: childhood.
don't own... wish I did, but I don't. No infringement intended.
Summer 1957, somewhere in rural Minnesota
Little Johnny squatted near the edge of the pond, a long stick in one hand. He was all dirty face and scabby knees, tanned from head to foot, clothed only in cutoff jeans and a torn t-shirt. He rubbed at the sunburn on his neck, poking a fish with the stick. He watched as it quickly changed direction, trying to remember what his grampa had told him about fishing.
He hadn't really been paying attention. Fishing was boring. But the worms were cool. He remembered how they wiggled through his fingers-all slimy and gross.
Overhead a loud screech caught his attention. He stood up, a grubby hand moving to shield his eyes from the sun. A hawk circled high above. Up where the clouds floated, where the rain started. Almost to outer space.
The bird flew lazily back and forth. Johnny found himself mimicking the motion, rocking where he stood as his eyes followed the hawk. It screeched again and suddenly dove for the ground behind the tall trees that surrounded the pond. Johnny stretched his arms as far as they would go just like a bird's wings. He started running, arms out and flapping. Faster and faster, the wind blowing his hair away from his face and stealing his breath. He imagined he was a bird-up high in the sky. A mighty hawk swooping and diving for prey.
Fishing was boring. Even worms were kind of boring. But flying...
Flying was freedom. Joy. Like his birthday and Christmas all wrapped up in one thing.
He ran in circles as fast as he could until he found himself atop a small hill. He stretched his arms wide and leaped. His shirt flapped around his small body, wind in his face, toes leaving the dirt. And for a moment he was flying.
Johnny landed on his feet, curled into a ball and rolled like his daddy had taught him. When he stood up the hawk was back in the sky, soaring majestically.
Johnny watched, mesmerized. Flying. That was what he wanted. Some day he would fly for real. In a real plane, high above the ground. Just him and the birds. Free. Some day.