Breathe in, breathe out. The clear, crisp air invites me to inhale the warmth around me. I breathe in and feel the heat slip away instantly, into the approaching night. I hold my breath, ignoring the passing seconds in defiance, refusing to waste another breath. I want to capture this moment, just as it is. The fiery embers of the sun illuminate the ground hundreds of feet below me, soaking the soil with different shades of sunset. My eyes greedily drink in the vivid colors that stain the earth, watching as they quickly fade to grey. A light breeze calls to me, taunting me, tempting me to follow. As I lean into its embrace, I find that it has already gone, leaving me with a dead, empty space. Time reminds me to exhale, forcing the very life out of my lungs. I feel dizziness overtake me as golden light and dry leaves cascade down below me in a whirlwind of color. The loud whispers of bare branches rustling in the evening sky urge my body to fly, to live, to revel in the last moments of the dying day. But the chaos merely places the splendor of my surroundings further beyond my reach. The world is rapidly becoming a blurry backdrop to the screaming pain that scars my body. The air has turned cold in my gasping lungs. Color drains from everything my eyes touch. When I reach for the calling wind, it only lashes at my hair, stabbing at the soft skin under my garments. The grandeur of the world distorts around the pain I feel inside, so I cannot enjoy its beauty. Yet I cling to that pain, because it reminds me that I still exist, that I am still alive.

Today, a new kind of pain hits me, slamming into me, ripping another precious breath from my mouth. A burning sensation starts from below my shoulder blades, spreading like wildfire across the span of my back. I crumple and fold tightly into a ball, anchoring myself to my body as the pain tries to sweep me away. My skin feels as if it has been ripped off, leaving me raw and fragile. But almost immediately, the excruciating sensation is replaced with another, and this time it is not pain. As energy suddenly courses through me, I feel my body grow stronger, barely able to contain it. My arms stretch out beside me and I stand tall and ready. Memories come flooding back, carrying all of my realities and dreams, tangling together with this moment to paint one final image. A glance behind me reveals the masterpiece I have conjured – a black, feathery, beautiful freedom that promises flight.

It was a scorching summer day, with heat waves throbbing in time to my heartbeat and pounding against the busy street. The air was heavy and humid, and with the blazing sun, it seemed to slow time itself. Color and sound blended into a thick syrup, dripping with rhythmic, mindless motion. It was in the center of this lifeless mass that she stood – a tense, almost frantic, presence that made ripples in the silent crowd. Immediately, she captured my attention, inviting my imagination to taste her, to feel her. The first that stood out was her skin. A vivid display of blue, purple, and black tainted a pale canvas, blending together over her face, under her neck, up her arms, down her legs. Next was her motion, a flurry of movement amidst the drifting mass. She ran free from the hypnotic rhythm of the sun, fear fueling her need to flee. Behind her followed a man who, sensing his cowering victim, towered over the crowd and slowly stalked towards her. He was unflinching in the face of her cries for mercy, seeking to corner her as he had always done. As if his confident resolve reflected his past victories, memories flickered across her wide, frightened eyes, quickly replaced by panic. She did the only thing she could – twisting and turning in desperation, she ran. She ran straight ahead, hearing but not heeding the cries of the slowly wakening mass. The chaos that ensued swallowed her whole. The impact came hard and sudden, her final step to liberation. A stream of panic and shock swirled around her while she lay still, eyes closed and expression serene. Thick, bold color slowly traced her body, staining the colored canvas with a new, alluring shade of red. Her battle scars were now covered with a robe of rich scarlet. Strewn across the heated stone street, her cold body shone with a rare tranquility, and at last, a satisfied smile kissed her face, claiming her for good. But that was not the greatest change that overtook her body. Slowly, barely visible feathers sprouted from her back, ready to set her free. They shimmered in and out of reality, shifting between different shades of royal blue, crimson gold, lustrous white… but as my thoughts developed a clearer image, the kaleidoscope of color focused in on an image far from angel wings. At the end of the frantic flickering, the feathery shadows of a clear midnight sky found their way to her back.

The intense impact of that night rips me from the recollection, entangling the past with the present as the passing seconds warp around me. Time morphs into nothing, something, anything in my mind. My mind is pandemonium. Memories surface in a broken sequence, threatening to drown my consciousness. One in particular claims me, taking me under its weight.

It was another day spent in the cold, worn hospital lobby, waiting for the doctors’ word on Mother. Waves of patients passed by, feeble and sickly, seeking release from their suffering. The tension built up around one center, calling up a thrashing tornado made of both hysteria and despair. A familiar figure stood among the patients, but at the same time, stood out. She, unlike the others, no longer seemed to strain for a better life, but rather for something better than life itself. No one could deny that the frail woman had struggled through a hard fight. When I was younger, I had watched as the doctors confined her to a rigid wheelchair, sticking several tubes deep inside her thin, almost translucent skin. Thick liquid continued to crawl up the tubes, draining the life out of her a little bit at a time. It was clear that there was not much more that could be done to help her. I remember when her eyes shone with a youthful glint, when her smile lit up the room like a ray of sunlight breaking through a cloudy sky. She had controlled the space around her, morphing gravity and time so she could delve into the fullness of this world and beyond, jumping through dimensions and across realities. She sucked the marrow out of life and was brave in the face of death. That was the kind of woman she was, and I admired her for it. But she still became weaker every day, and I knew she would soon pass away. It was during these days that I saw her wings grow more solid, darkening as time passed. The threat of death continued to blacken on her back, hovering over her until she was finally set free.

I try to process the images, to try to piece the memories together. Blue, black, purple, red. They twist into my identity, ensnaring, tangling my thoughts. Reality is morphing around me; I cannot tell it apart from imagination, from memories. Another wave is approaching, and I don’t have time to think – it is getting closer, deeper. I’m no longer looking back but forward, revisiting the one moment that lasted no more than a minute but longer than a lifetime.

I stand in a nightmare at its peak, and though I know what will happen, I am unable to stop it. I am frozen in time, in panic, in fear, emotions howling around me as they contort and contract, mine undistinguishable from the others. These feelings all spiral around one point, one center, beating along with a wild, chaotic heart. Mother. Her unsteady heartbeat is a ticking bomb, counting down to her life’s last seconds. Ten. Doctors frantically run about her, calling for a little more support, a little more help, a little more time. Nine. Tears burn my cheeks as I realize that she has struggled so hard, so tirelessly, only to come to this. Eight. Hope dissolves as the doctors’ words penetrate my heart – time is what we need, but it is the one thing we don’t have. Seven. She gasps, trying not to cry out in pain, trying not to let the sob force its way through her raw throat, because she knows I am watching. Six. I wonder if it is worth it, keeping her barely hanging on, driven mad with pain, when she could be free. Five. Her scream pierces my ears, her eyes begging me to end this, to release her from this living hell. Four. As she twists and turns, I see a dark shadow behind her, soft but sure. Three. Time slows down, along with her limp movements. Two. She stills, surrendering, ceasing her fight. One. She leaps, beating her wings, and a small smile tells me she is finally free. Time stops, along with my heart.

The icy air on my tear stained cheeks brings me back to the present. The sun has disappeared, leaving the sky dark, a midnight blue gradually fading to black. The wind is howling, ripping at me, clawing at my skin until it bleeds. It has started snowing, a blizzard spinning the world around in white, grey, and eventually pitch-black. I take in the frosty air, letting it out slowly, and watch my breath crystalize. As I stand still in the open air, my thoughts start to collapse into words, weaving a story that changes the world in front of me. I see that the world battles against time, to catch up to all the things that have already gone. Humanity runs from nonexistence, the ultimate end. But we will never be able to win the race, and we only lose time trying to save it. We fear chaos, the very nature of the world, and cower from suffering, but continue to stand in those very conditions, because they remind us that we are alive. Life could be ripped out from under us within a matter of seconds. The icy gale responds to that thought, pushing me forward, urging me to leap. For once, I embrace it. Liberation is all I long for, to transcend the painful restrictions of my reality. So I embrace the raw wind, the frozen flurry that chips away at my skin – not for the pain, but for what it represents. I extend my wings far behind me, feathers blending into the shadows of my dark surroundings, invisible yet so real to me. The raging tempest lashes at me, circling around me, lifting me onto the tips of my bare feet. I am ready for freedom at last, to fly, to revel in the glorious moments that call to me. I step forward, the blizzard nudging me towards the edge of glory. I spread my wings and jump.

One final memory finds its way to me. It is of a small boy, staring into my eyes and earnestly explaining something, begging me to listen. I don’t remember who he is, or where we are. He seems frightened. I don’t know what I’ve done, but he keeps shaking his head at me. He says I am wrong. He says he cannot see them. He says they are not real. They are only products of my imagination.

By the time I realize what he means, it’s too late. Everything around me seems dark, almost black. Shapeless shadows fly up into the open sky, leaving me behind. The sky itself seems to race away from me, growing farther and farther away. But I know it is not the world that has chosen to forsake me. In reality, it is not moving at all. I am falling.