“Winged” Part 6

Again, apologies for missing another Saturday! But, kinda makes it more enticing, eh? To wait extra long for the next part, eh?

Anyway, here’s is part 6. The story is almost over, I promise. One more part to go. Enjoy!


I both loved and hated the reality of falling from the sky. It was so terrifying that it was thrilling. I saw the sea creep up to me. I wanted to scream but I chose not to; it was too early in the day. My back still struggled to find the illusive wings I knew were there but were being too stubborn to work like they should. I glanced down below me and saw something that was not ocean blue, but brown and white. As I approached from above I made out its shape: oval like, but pointed at one end and flat on the other. It was a boat.

A moving figure stood on its small deck. They leaned on the rail and looked nonchalantly towards the water.


They jolted, looked around.

“Help me!”

The figure looked up just a second before I managed to swish my wings and slow my speed. My feet crashed into the roof of the vessel and the impact caused my knees to buckle. I smacked onto the metal, slid across like a cube of ice, and was dumped over the side onto the deck. Every possible sound of crashing and banging was made. My body felt far away for a moment; my right arm tingled just a bit in the elbow. A collection of thuds battered across the deck until two figures stood and stared at me, one a husky bearded man and another a tall, lean, shaggy haired boy. Their lips were parted in shock as I attempted to stand. If not for my wings they might have stepped forward and helped me. They stood back, rather, and stood back even further when I got to my feet and my clumsy wings knocked about, making their whimper of beaten air.

“I…I’m sorry…please, can you…”

What did I want? I needed to get home, and looking out to the water I realized I wasn’t too far from shore. I could still see the grey-shingled roof of the beach house poking out in the sunrise fog.

“Che cosa sei?”

It was the young man who spoke. I looked at him and scrunched my brow.

“I’m sorry…what?” My head took a while to put together the world at that moment.

“You…American?” he said. His accent. It was like what I heard in videos, when an Italian person was speaking English.

Of course! He was Italian.

“Mi…mi dispiace,” I replied. I’m sorry.

“Che cosa sei?”

He was asking me what I was. He stared bug-eyed at my wings.

“Io sono un essere umano con le ali,” I answered. I’m a human with wings.

“Un angelo?” An angel?

I managed to smile. “No, io non sono un angelo.” No, I’m no angel.

The older man came closer and bent his head to look directly at my face. “Impossibile,” he whispered. Impossible.

“Please,” I began, making my voice smooth to form the Italian well enough. “Ho bisogno di andare-.”

I need to go…I forgot the word for “home.” I pointed to the grey roof house. They looked at it, and back at me.

“Home,” I said, hoping they would understand. “Vi abito.” I live there.

The young man had been looking strangely at me, and suddenly he stepped up and reached a hand out. It was aimed for one of my wings, and I jolted back with a start. He brought his hand back and looked sadly but curiously into my eyes.

“Sono reali?” Are they real?

Something in his face made me trust him; a look of innocence, genuine gentleness; they wouldn’t hurt me. They were too amazed of me.

I answered his question by leaning forward and bringing my wing out just a little straighter. He reached carefully and touched a single feather with the tip of his finger. And only that; he brought his arm back and gave me a smile.

“Ho bisogno di andare in,” I said to both of them, pointing again to the house. I need to go there.

“Non è possibile volare?” the young man asked. Can’t you fly?

“Ho male,” I said. I’ve hurt myself. And I am too afraid.

“Casa?” the older man said.

What was that? Was that “home”? I didn’t know, but something told me that’s what he said. I slowly nodded.

“Io ti ci porta, quindi,” he said. I will take you there, then. I gasped and was about to thank him, but he stepped into the cabin and started up the engine. I stood on the deck with the young man, who continued to stare at my wings like a little child. I shivered sheepishly under his gaze.

“Qual è il tuo nome?” he asked.

He wanted my name. I hesitated. Was it dangerous to tell one’s name to strangers? But were they strangers anymore? I got scared and I bit my tongue.

“Mi chiamo Claudio.”

His name was Claudio. He told me his name, and I didn’t feel any different.


He smiled and nodded.

“Come avete le ali?” How do you have wings?

“Non lo so. Sono nato con loro.” I don’t know. I was born with them.

“È incredibile.” That’s amazing.


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