King of the Clouds
Tags: Short Story, Short Fiction, Flying, Sky, Birds

King of the Clouds

When it comes to life’s biggest ironies, I’m a prime, living proof, for I’m “convencienced,” as my mother declared, with the ability to fly. The punchline is that I have a crippling fear of heights. They say Irony is Fate’s most customary figure of speech, but couldn’t I have been “Convenienced,” with invisibility maybe? Time travel? Teleportation? Literally anything else? I haven’t flown in years, but I’m acquiring the sudden notion to attempt. It’s impossible to perceive how the idea set foot inside my brain, but once conceived, it haunted me day and night.

I ultimately surrender to the instantaneous urges, and with previous help of exposure therapy, I proceed to the roof. Today the sky is nothing at all. It’s like a child began to draw on it with a pencil and then erased it in a way that smudged and spread the gray. All the while the rain streaks down, invisible until it hits the sodden ground. The serene clouds sailed by, gently passing on toward any place the wind wishes them to reach.

My palms grow sweaty, and I feel my face setting pale taking the first step. The second step isn’t any easier; my knees shake like an elderly’s going up the stairs, and I have more disturbance breathing than a dedicated smoker. My head sets heavy and my sight dims. Initially, the minute hands of the watch moved quicker than my legs, but as of now, I’m hitting the brakes and closing my eyes. I let out a groan of mortal terror. It is the low stifled sound that arises from the bottom of the soul when overcharged with all. The serene clouds are now daunting.

And the cherry on top, a bird towering above me on invisible strings, eyes trained on the grassland below. In those tall blades that flatten with each gust of wind are nesting materials, flaunting it in my face that it can fly; it looks at me with such pity. It only made sense that the root of jealousy is fear because the envy and resentment I feel toward this foolish bird is immeasurable.

Anything is better than this derision.

And thus, I cut my mind off despite being dreadfully nervous, and feeling like my heart is going to burst. I search within myself and find the inner strength to heave myself out of this vicious cycle. I uncover the motivation to not give up, and not be a quitter, despite how devotedly I desired to just fall flat on my face and collapse.

I could sense that this run is going to be a sight to see; there’s no residue of fear inside of my eyes. “Some only live to die while you’re alive to fly higher than angels,” my mother articulated . I stretched my hands out to the sky. I never had the strength to take it higher, until I’ve reached the point of no return. I pay my dues to the dirt and lift myself up, taking it in but not looking down. I’ve been waiting on victory for a while now, and tonight I’m finally victorious. I’m King of the Clouds.

I have come to believe that fear is my closest friend. It is there when I move to a one story house, when I refuse to get on planes, when I dodge rollercoasters at all times, waiting for the right moment to step into the spotlight. I am an expert in my field, and fear is my subject. But here’s a modest mystery I untangled: We can all grasp the bravery of a hero. It’s a skill; you just have to develop a tolerance for fear which isn’t something most people are born with. At the end of the day, fear doesn’t actually limit you, determining actions based on fear does.

… English Writing for School.