The Flightless Path

Written by Lucy.
The ground was rough against her claws. The beaten, flattened path still gritty with countless grains of dried soil. Thousands of dragons had followed this route, each time smothering the vegetation sneaking into their way. Yet rocks still remained, scraping against the pads of her talons as she ran.
The noise thundered in her ears, but the SkyWing focused on the blurred ground beneath her. A rock, a yellowed plant, sandy dust that exploded with every impact of her claws. The lines of trees, the valley beyond, the faraway mountains reaching towards the sky. It all became streaks of color racing past as she pushed harder against the ground. Dust stung her eyes. Her face felt slick with irritated tears. Her blunted claws ached, as it always did when she began.
And yet she ran.
The sun was high, unforgiving. The boughs and branches reaching above her had withered with age, limp from droughts and beating sun. The sky was a brazen blue, intense on her tired eyes. Her tail was tiring quickly, but she didn't let it droop. That would slow her. That was not allowed.
Her movements regularized, the jolting speed turning to a stable cycle. The ground passed by faster. Her movements smoothed, and eased as she faded into a senseless blur of speed.
The ground no longer felt rough, the impacts light and fast. The dust stirred up was far behind before it could reach her eyes. And she closed them, for a brief pleased moment, soaking up the exuberance. It almost felt as if she was taking flight.
She stumbled, suddenly, followed by a sharp gasp. She scrambled those next few moments, stumbling. Trying to fall back into the routine. She shook her head, running faster, her eyes wet against the wind. The trail was smooth. There was no insidious rock, no yellowed plant to trip on. She needed to stop forgetting.
Her heart ached harder than her talons, now.
It took less time to fade back into that cycle of smooth movements. Her thoughts turned from the dusty path, eyes sweeping up above the green roofed canopy, past a lonesome cloud. She watched it longer. The fluffy, irregular whiteness. It bobbed along and followed her, stark against the blazing sky.
It was small. Smaller than most clouds. Her eyes darted briefly across the still sea of blue. The cloud was small, but it was the only one. Following her, no, slightly ahead of her. She allowed herself a smile, her mind returning to running. Her speed increased, steadily. To outrun the cloud, to outrun the sun. A game for a fool that would not win.
The cloud was still slightly ahead, almost taunting.
Taunting, like the brother. The short, laughing brother. The one that ran faster not from skill, but from age. From stout and barely longer legs who ran slightly faster. Who stayed close so he could laugh and always stay ahead.
The brother who— she shredded the thought before it could speak. She should be forgetting. She wasn't forgetting. The brother whose one achievement was that he could fly.
Another needle in her heart.
Her tail was tired. She wanted to rest, but the end of the path was still not in sight. She shouldn't have chosen this one. The longest one. That filled her lungs with dust. She wanted to stop thinking about her brother now. She wanted to keep on thinking about him. 
He was funny. He was playful. He was loud. He loved talking. He was a dragonet. He did the things dragonets did. Then, he grew up. He became distant, snobby, angry. He became someone that was not her brother. Her became a stranger.
He was still her brother.
She willed herself to stop thinking about him now. The ground scraped her talons. The cloud had vanished. Wind tore it apart. It drifted below the trees. It had left for greater passions. Destroyed or hidden, it was gone. And with it, took her thoughts about the dragon that was no longer her brother.
There was the path. The path lined with thin trees. Trees left sparse, the weaker ones torn down by the wearing of patient time. Deeper, the forest was denser. As forests are. The weaker protected by the stronger. Still allowed to grow and attempt to flourish. There, the weak were allowed to survive. Out by the path, by the path that many ran though. On this path the weak were dead.
She could remember healing. Remember pain. Remember the whispers of chance and luck. Those who took care of others shouldn't rely on luck. Luck had helped, but helped too late. Far too late.
The memories were vague. She could recall how she felt. She could remember the soft words and worried faces. Faded, all of it. The pain was sharp, but memories provided an amorphous ache. The words were soft and kind, but the content was forgotten. Were those teary eyes her mother's? She could not recall.
Another twinge of ice in her heart. She remembered that. The crystal clear fear and anger. The betrayal, the regret, the desperation. It followed her. A heavy weight that wouldn't leave. 
She pushed it from her mind. She was meant to forget. She wanted it to fade. Her lungs were burning. She barely noticed. The faces crowded her mind, perplexed, worried, nervous. They were nervous around her. Of course they were. Treading on eggshells, a fragility everyone could sense.
Focus on the path.
Her eyes were wet. Not from the sting of flying dust, from sorrow and pain. She should be forgetting. She should not be crying. She had cried too much she could not do it again it had been months. Months. Months spent calming. Spent being treated like a half cracked egg. Being treated like she could shatter at any moment. She didn't want this, she wanted it all to return.
She wanted their eyes to crinkle when they smiled. She wanted the laughter to fall free. She wanted to do as she pleased without being stopped by those questioning, worried eyes. She wanted to live and laugh with them. She wanted to forget.
The path was long.
It stretched on without end, a flattened strip of dried dust. It extended, curving slowly as it proceeded to the end of the world. A few plants, sickly yellow, struggled out of the dust. Less dragons passed over this area. They gave up. They stared at the endlessness and decided to stop. They rested their aching legs, and turned back. On their ready wings.
She trampled one of the plants under her talons as she continued. Her gaze steeled, grew cold. She was not turning back. She was going to stop thinking about it. She needed to forget about it all. She needed to stop picking at the months old wounds.
The wind picked up. It tore leaves from the trees. It brought sand back into her eyes and mouth, made her cough as she continued racing into the carnage. A stick bumbled across the path. More leaves. A cold fierce wind that chilled her scales. The sun was still bright. Still glaring in her eyes.
She remembered her hopes. She wanted to be luckier than was possible. She wanted so much as she lay there. Those faces, that voice. They tried to reassure her and she hoped. She believed them. She thought it would all turn out fine.
The soft voice said she was lucky to live. Not to her face, of course. To her mother or father, outside the cave. In hushed voices they thought she couldn't hear. They lied to her, to take the anguish from her. They said it all would be fine, every time she asked. They made sure she believed this was true. So they could pretend to believe it was true, too. They were lying to themselves.
And to her, to keep her from sobbing, which she did. To keep her from knowing the sheer volume of her situation, which she learned. To protect her from the sorrow that had followed her for weeks. They lied so they could believe it too. They lied to her not to protect her, but to cling onto those last strands of happiness until it was too late.
And now it was too late. She had cried until her tears were gone, then sobbed with dry heaves. Then she was fine, she was fixed, she was accepting. And suddenly it all was back, and she threw herself forward, alone, on that silent path.
She nearly stumbled to a stop. To allow herself a single rest. To calm the sobs that wracked her body. She shivered, despite the cold wind having died off. Yet she kept on running. She couldn't stop, she wouldn't stop. She never stopped. Never, not even before the incident.
Rocks pricked at her talons, but she ignored the paint as she continued. Her talons landed heavy. She was running far too slow. Her mother— no coach— no. No one would care, but her own disappointment weighed her down more than anything else.
She should be forgetting. She wanted to forget. They all wanted to forget what happened and hide the pain and tears behind a curtain. Her mother nearly explained it all to that soft voiced doctor, but she didn't. Of course she didn't. She cared about the brother that was no longer a brother.
Dust sprayed into her eyes, and her teeth clenched. She needed to focus on running. Focus on the ground beneath her. The scattered rocks, the yellowed grass. The blank bright sky of solid blue. The emptiness without a cloud. The sun that glared into her eyes. Her burning lungs. Her aching talons. All the sensations she could focus on instead of the things she wanted to forget.
The path was curving ahead. She turned, a sharp twist that almost threw her into the forest. She slipped. A few stumbles later, she was back on the path, running again. Her breaths had doubled, and she sucked in as much air as she could. Pain was rippling along her backside. She knew why. She was not thinking about why.
She wanted to forget. She wasn't forgetting.
The path ended.
The SkyWing slowed, and stopped. The path looped back here. She was back, where she started. Where the dried sparse land faded into soft lush green. She stepped onto the grass of the valley. The cool frond brushed against her dirt-caked scales. She took a few deep breaths, pacing. Circling, the occasional twitter of bird calls interrupting her thoughts.
Dew, collected on the gentle blades, wetness brushing against her claws. She closed her eyes, taking in a single breath which she soon released. Water so unlike the frigid, pummeling rapids. These were harmless droplets. Disappearing into the soil, like snails, slowly receding into their shells.
Nothing like the ice shard river. The chills attacked her suddenly, shaking her as her claws grinded into the dirt. Grass crushed beneath her palms. She was remembering it again, all of it in painful, agitated clarity. Reliving the moment she wished could be forgotten.
The cliffside, the smile, the crinkled, terrible eyes. The laughter, the tease, the push. It was a push. Not an accidental nudge, not a playful bump, not whatever he insisted it was. It was a push. Made with purpose, meant to send her spiraling towards the waves. As if she was expected to react, to pull up, before that short fall and sudden slam into the water.
The cliff was dreary gray. It was speckled with life. Small blue flowers, trellises growing slowly along its edges. A few spruces, several blooms of white. The face, the smirk morphed into horror, before he ran away. Ran away, disappeared only to return when things calmed. Not to call for help. Not to be the help. Running away, from the problems he caused and the pain that coursed through her.
Coward.
She found herself grounded again, in the meadow. The ground furrowed under her claws, grass shredded, earth disturbed. She rose, shakily at first, before looking back towards the path.
He had never apologized. Just looked in, guilt written over his face as he sobbed and claimed he wasn't to blame. He looked in to make sure she wasn't dead. That was it. To ensure he wasn't in danger for possibly killing his sister for a second of laughter. Not a single semblance of regret had ever left his mouth.
That was fine, she didn't care anymore. She just wanted to forget. To leave it all behind, clear her mind as she strode forth. Her steps more confident with every passing moment. Under her claws, the bending grass faded back to puffs of dust. Stretching and readying herself, she looked forward.
The SkyWing began to run again, catching the air under imaginary wings. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend she was afloat, flying once more. She could pretend she was suspended in air, free to go wherever she went. Free to fly. In the end, it was a dream. Nothing more than that.
The ground was rough against her claws.
Category:Fanfictions
Category:Genre (Short Story)
Category:Fanfictions (Completed)
Category:Fanfictions (Fanon)
Category:Content (Mezepheles)