Under the bare winter trees, a young man walked, hands in his coat pockets. His black hair ruffled in the bone-chilling breeze and snowflakes pummeled his face. All the while he wore a small smile - even despite the fact that it was far past his curfew, that he would receive major punishment upon his return home. But that was just it; he wasn’t planning on returning. Ever. He continued down the park path, alone and silent. All was silent but the distant howl of a wolf, singing to the moon. What a beautiful thing the night was.
In his chest, the man’s heart pumped warmly. Now that the reason he’d come here was in sight, his feet moved a bit faster. Stepping gingerly through the patches of snow, he approached the stone bridge. The breeze over the frozen river was stronger here, colder. But it could barely touch the burning fire within him. Nothing could distinguish this heat, this content. Not now that he was so close to all that he’d ever dreamed of. He strode out onto the bridge, moonlight shedding its glowing light down on him. Stealthily, he leapt up onto the railing, his legs dangling over the edge. Far below, the frozen river sat, unable to continue on, as he had been his whole miserable life. Going nowhere, being no one, having nothing. But everything would change in a matter of minutes – he would have what he’d dreamed of. He turned his dark eyes upward, watching as a falling star trailed across the sky.
With a strong Irish accent, he whispered, “I wish to fly.” Pushing himself up on the stone railing so that he stood on his feet, he pulled off his leather jacket, and dropped it. The young man watched it flutter to the ice, and took a breath of the refreshing night air.
“I wish to fly!” He shouted, the words echoing off the nearby buildings. Twirling around, he stood, with his back to the city. The man leaned backward slowly, dropping head first off the bridge. He began to pick up speed, burning through the air like the falling star. He was flying… and no one could tell him otherwise.