The flight with a broken wing

"It's always been the same to me. There's not going to change soon I fear."

The warm light at the end of tunnel flickers as I slowly move towards the silent predator. The blood on my hands scream for its identity, it forgets it was gushing inside of me moments ago. As it turns dark, my memories follows its lead into the trap.
It's back 5 years and I loath myself for being in the state I am in. I have outgrown society and hid myself from the masked seller. It's cold and I'm starting to feel numb. I will always remember the feeling, it's in my bones now. As the scene turns white, I stroke my clock back and wish to rewind my years back. It's hopeless but I can see the light ahead.
Now it's nearly last year, I'm again in the dark shadow of my high expectations from the world. The darkness force feeds me itself and I spit out something even darker. I turn to the person who promises me a life of liberation and joy, a failed concept engineered in the labs of political campaigns. Moving slowly I let down the defenses and let the scheme engulf me in a cacophonous shell of hate and false subtext. As the scene again turns to white, I take the nearest knife and in a moment of pure ecstatic joy, pull it towards me with the last remnants of  my dwindling strength.
The red keeps flowing out while we shift back to present.
It's not hard to be mad as I am, all you need is a push and you can figure out the rest. I raise my hand in the sunlight, it starts to burn of warmth and light. I can't have it says the puppeteer, 'I need to go back to the shattering abyss I wanted to come out of' says he.
After all those scars, I wished myself to be more careful, I risk my chances as I try to get air under the broken wings of life. Time will tell. Only time.

Fluttering now.

©2012 Aman Gupta

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