You’d expect a physically challenged, mentally retarded child born with a life expectancy of six years to figure out a crude way of getting around. Some simple crutches, perhaps. Or maybe a box to drag oneself around in ( Read more... )

My wings are trees, dependent on sunlight and rain, with roots that wrap around my shoulder blades and plunge deep through the muscles of my back into my lungs and heart. I need to breathe to stay aloft. My heart needs to flap in time with the beats of my wings ( Read more... )

An unfortunate collection of thoughts had a car crash in my head yesterday ( Read more... )

Once upon a time, there was a small crow named Jackdaw ( Read more... )

Angels and demons are nothing but carrion birds ( Read more... )

I’m trapped in a hall of mirrors. The reflections all look like me. They look lost and close to panic. The thing about real-world mirrors is that there’s no lag time. They update to the picosecond. They mimic me so efficiently that I’m starting to doubt that I’m the real one ( Read more... )

Angels don’t go anywhere when they die. They’re created in heaven, serve in heaven, and are entirely composed of heaven ( Read more... )

Forget the falcon. Forget the vulture. Forget the cloud of sparrows ( Read more... )

I guess the wings should have given it away but I was pretty high at the time. Accepting the occasional hallucination had become a way of life ( Read more... )

My mount is about an acre across from wingtip to wingtip ( Read more... )