The Stripe

I laughed when I saw the line they'd painted on the wall. Cross the line, they said, we dare you. We dare you. Though the words were challenging, the dispassionate body language told me something else. That crossing the line did not matter, that it was another sort of test. There was something here I needed to figure out about them that would further my petition, my endeavor to become one of the few. They pranced a little in false impatience,  the impossibly sleek hides shone with sweat--it was too warm on the surface. They preferred to be aloft. Who could blame them?

The first time I stood upon one of the Heights, I wanted nothing more than to leap into the nothing. The ground would never see me, I would never get close enough for the near-sighted earth for it to claim me. No one else I knew understood this; they feared that I would kill myself for this dream. People tried to stop me, lock me up, commit me. So I did what anyone in my position would do. I became one of them in spirit. The ground became too warm, my blood too heated. In my fever-dreams they brought me to the high places so I could pass their exams and answer their questions. If I failed, I would be fodder. If successful, I would ascend. There is the answer. 


With a flying leap, I mounted one of them and yanked its tender mane, startling it airborne. I crowed as they crow and urged it sideways, its feet striking the wall, crossing the line. By then, it had control of itself, and threw me at the feet of the current minister. I lay there, bruised, but unbroken. I bared my teeth the way they do, so they could see, and waited. The one I had taken rejoined its fellows, subdued and fairly shaken. They stared back in hatred and admiration.

Bold, they said as one. Very bold. The minister knelt down so it could look in one eye. I saw the intelligence there, the fierce fire that I too now possessed, and did not blink. The snout whuffed and I felt the acid of its tongue searing my arm. I did not hiss, I did not flinch. You will proceed, they said. Well come, they said.

I looked down at the angry burn on my arm. A perfect stripe of screaming red that would fade into a green and blue pattern. Every flier had one. I threw myself from the Height then, and they caught me.










For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Cedar challenged me with "Write a pivotal moment in a personal history that swings on the most trivial occurrence. " and I challenged Wendryn with "Write about something despicable. "