Little Wing - A short story.

When I was young I was able to fly. I remember it clear....But no-one believed me.

Gaelic version below.

LITTLE WING

When I was young I was able to fly. I remember it clear.

But no-one believed me. And the worst thing, when I told people close to me about what I was able to do, they made me feel stupid.

Before then, when I still remembered how to do it, I’d find every chance to go out alone. I’d fly around the cliffs by the lighthouse, which was near my house.

Sometimes there would be people there. I’d wait until they looked the other direction and then I’d take a step into the air. Down with me, the sea coming closer, and then I would stretch my arms out. The wind would catch me.

I would travel through the caves at the bottom of the cliffs, through them and out, the sun high alone flying.

One time I went high. I didn’t know how high I could go and what I could do. Even then I didn’t find the edges of the thing. I wouldn’t, until something terrible happened.