Sunday, October 14, 2018

After a Long Sleep

Photo by Ian Parker on Unsplash


I wake up to this itch I cannot scratch. My whole body feels different and the capsule-like cocoon seems ready to open. I am scared and relieved at the same time.

It has been a long sleep. So long that I feel I’m not the same as I was. I can hardly remember anything from before and the general perception is definitely unfamiliar.

Drowsily, I start stretching my muscles. There’s a sudden crack sound and the cocoon begins to open. My eyes are flooded with the light from outside. I feel an electric wave go down my body and I am paralyzed for a moment. When I stretch a bit more, it hurts a little. This is a new type of pain, there’s also pleasure in it. I’m working out muscles I didn’t know I had. Maybe I didn’t, It all feels so different. The opening widens and I feel the warmth of this light. I have never appreciated this in this way before.

I keep trying to move and the gap keeps opening wider as I do.

Something outside feels cold, despite the warmth of the light. It’s a familiar feeling of being frail and exposed. Like having an oversensitive skin, it feels familiar, but not good.

I stop, gasping as if I had been doing some great effort. I need to rest for a while, to catch my breath. The light and this warm/cold feeling overwhelm me. It’s impossible to rest like this but, motionless, I try to gather my energy and find my focus.

I have no idea how long I have been quiet. Now I can move all my limbs, stretch them, slowly discovering new possibilities.

This lethargy is a blessing and so is the heat from the light.

It takes me a lifetime to step out of the cocoon. Then I discover I have wings now. I stand here, feeling my new body, breathing as deep as I can. My legs feel steadier now. I contract my abdomen and feel my wings stretching out. It’s a strange feeling, this pressure inside and the wings growing on my back. The soft breeze makes it hard to keep my balance but somehow I manage.

I don’t think I can spread my wings any further. I try to fold them back but, instead, they move up and down. I spend time learning how to move them and I sway my whole self to test my balance, the cold is gradually dissolving in the heat of this light. I love this light.

The sensitivity on the surface of my body is partially gone and I realize I am hungry. This is new, I acknowledge it and wait.

I find I can walk now, my legs are firm and I take a couple of steps. Then I tilt my body to both sides and it feels good. I discover I can move my wings faster now and I try that. My body begins to go up in the air. Scared, I stop and all goes back to normal. I wait. And my hunger grows.

I make new attempts with the wings and every time I get a little more control over them. The breeze is stronger now.

I start moving my wings and I go up in the air, to land a little far away from where I was. This feels good and I do it again. And again. And then I fly up and see a colourful spot in the distance and the word flower pops in my mind. I’m sure I have never heard it before, but flower looks attractive and I’m hungry, so I fly that way.

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 April’s Prompt: Transition (2018)

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