Post by kurai on Dec 26, 2005 17:30:32 GMT -8
It started out as a little short story but then it started to grow. Now it's getting strange and I've just written it in the last five or so minutes. It really is strange but please just read.
My mother said I wasn’t realistic enough for my own good. My father used to say I had an imagination that some would die for. But that was before. Now I was told I had to grow up. I had already been informed that Old Saint Nick wasn’t real no matter how much I had wanted it to be so. After all he was fat man in a big red suit that somehow managed to get down chimneys without a scratch. The Easter Bunny no longer came for me; it only came for my little sister who was exactly what my mom wanted. I had slowly stopped believing on my own but now they wanted me to toss my dreams out the window. Yep, I was supposed to let my desires lie around with Santa, the Easter Bunny and whatever else there was. This ‘journey’ as my parents was supposed to rid me of my dream of flight.
As long as I have remembered I wanted to fly. To reach the sky and clouds that seemed eternity away. At the age of fourteen I knew I could never reach the end of the big blue mass, and clouds weren’t cotton candy but still I wanted it so much. So much that I would write songs, poems, stories or anything that came to mind about flying. I would run around and shout, and scream about how I was in love with flight. How I thought it was absolutely romantic. (Romance and addict, the best of both). My father foolishly encouraged it against my mother’s will and hopes. Even they remember that it started almost as soon as I was born.
I had been the type of baby that refused to cry, refused to laugh. They were desperate and willing to do almost anything. While I waited with my parents and nurse a television played above my baby cheeked head. A show about flying and angels. I don’t think it was merely a coincidence that I began to laugh and gurgle. Or at least that’s the story that I was told my dad. This belief of mine was strengthened when my first ever recognizable word was ‘wings’. However much it was deformed it definitely wasn’t ‘Daddy’ or ‘Mama’. Not even close.
At first when I was younger I thought puberty was when you sprouted wings. Parents just hid them ‘cause they got in their way or lost them. Or perhaps God hadn’t deemed them worthy to fly. For some odd reason I thought I would show everyone how it was done. I felt like I knew that I was going to sprout the most beautiful wings known to mankind. They would be angelic, smooth but yet fluffy and have the slightest tinge of pale lime green. Green? Where did the green come? I truly don’t know. It was just a feeling. But as time passed I knew it would never happen, and I learnt what the dreaded words puberty meant. (I was blushing the whole time).
Like time, people change as well. So do their desires. Now at fourteen I wanted to fly a plane. Yes, I wasn’t like most girls. I never asked for make up, clothes or anything else of the kind. All I ever wished for on my birthday as I blew out my candles was to fly through the clouds in a plane. All I ever asked for as presents was to have flying lessons. It never did happen. Instead I now have more plane models than I can count. Video games of this particular theme are scattered all over out playroom. Paintings and posters were everywhere I went but yet I never grew tired of it. I never grew tired of jets, planes, and the occasional space rocket. They were the candy, I was the bawling baby.
It’s hard to believe that my parents sent me off with an almost complete stranger. My little sister, Joanna at least got to stay with my aunt who spoils everybody. My parents needed ‘alone time’ before the newest member of our family arrived. Yep, my dear mother was seven months pregnant with little baby, Pippa. I guess I can’t really complain. After all I’m finally getting my wish. I’m being sent off to live with my eccentric man and somehow he’s my Uncle Kailas. The joy of it? He’s a pilot much to my mother’s distaste. For the next three months I’m going to learn how to fly.
I, Rhianne (better known as Randy) Carillons is going to learn to fly. I’m going to be the best pilot the world has ever seen. All of this begins now, and so does the ‘journey’ my mom has been talking about for so long.
Let the joy and laughter begin.
My mother said I wasn’t realistic enough for my own good. My father used to say I had an imagination that some would die for. But that was before. Now I was told I had to grow up. I had already been informed that Old Saint Nick wasn’t real no matter how much I had wanted it to be so. After all he was fat man in a big red suit that somehow managed to get down chimneys without a scratch. The Easter Bunny no longer came for me; it only came for my little sister who was exactly what my mom wanted. I had slowly stopped believing on my own but now they wanted me to toss my dreams out the window. Yep, I was supposed to let my desires lie around with Santa, the Easter Bunny and whatever else there was. This ‘journey’ as my parents was supposed to rid me of my dream of flight.
As long as I have remembered I wanted to fly. To reach the sky and clouds that seemed eternity away. At the age of fourteen I knew I could never reach the end of the big blue mass, and clouds weren’t cotton candy but still I wanted it so much. So much that I would write songs, poems, stories or anything that came to mind about flying. I would run around and shout, and scream about how I was in love with flight. How I thought it was absolutely romantic. (Romance and addict, the best of both). My father foolishly encouraged it against my mother’s will and hopes. Even they remember that it started almost as soon as I was born.
I had been the type of baby that refused to cry, refused to laugh. They were desperate and willing to do almost anything. While I waited with my parents and nurse a television played above my baby cheeked head. A show about flying and angels. I don’t think it was merely a coincidence that I began to laugh and gurgle. Or at least that’s the story that I was told my dad. This belief of mine was strengthened when my first ever recognizable word was ‘wings’. However much it was deformed it definitely wasn’t ‘Daddy’ or ‘Mama’. Not even close.
At first when I was younger I thought puberty was when you sprouted wings. Parents just hid them ‘cause they got in their way or lost them. Or perhaps God hadn’t deemed them worthy to fly. For some odd reason I thought I would show everyone how it was done. I felt like I knew that I was going to sprout the most beautiful wings known to mankind. They would be angelic, smooth but yet fluffy and have the slightest tinge of pale lime green. Green? Where did the green come? I truly don’t know. It was just a feeling. But as time passed I knew it would never happen, and I learnt what the dreaded words puberty meant. (I was blushing the whole time).
Like time, people change as well. So do their desires. Now at fourteen I wanted to fly a plane. Yes, I wasn’t like most girls. I never asked for make up, clothes or anything else of the kind. All I ever wished for on my birthday as I blew out my candles was to fly through the clouds in a plane. All I ever asked for as presents was to have flying lessons. It never did happen. Instead I now have more plane models than I can count. Video games of this particular theme are scattered all over out playroom. Paintings and posters were everywhere I went but yet I never grew tired of it. I never grew tired of jets, planes, and the occasional space rocket. They were the candy, I was the bawling baby.
It’s hard to believe that my parents sent me off with an almost complete stranger. My little sister, Joanna at least got to stay with my aunt who spoils everybody. My parents needed ‘alone time’ before the newest member of our family arrived. Yep, my dear mother was seven months pregnant with little baby, Pippa. I guess I can’t really complain. After all I’m finally getting my wish. I’m being sent off to live with my eccentric man and somehow he’s my Uncle Kailas. The joy of it? He’s a pilot much to my mother’s distaste. For the next three months I’m going to learn how to fly.
I, Rhianne (better known as Randy) Carillons is going to learn to fly. I’m going to be the best pilot the world has ever seen. All of this begins now, and so does the ‘journey’ my mom has been talking about for so long.
Let the joy and laughter begin.
