Moon Island

 

I was flying.

Through wind and rain and lightning.

Kinda like the mailman, only scary as hell.

Below, the gray, churning sea spread far and wide. The vague shape of a distant land mass was my target. Lightning appeared around me, sometimes just barely missing me. I wondered what it would feel like to be struck by lightning.

Probably hurt like hell. Would I plunge from the sky, to sink to the bottom of the ocean?

Maybe. Sinking to the bottom of the ocean didn't concern me much, since I had little use for my lungs. In fact, I quite enjoyed plunging into the water every now and then and gliding like a great manta ray.

Hanging from one of my scary-looking talons was my favorite Samsonite carry- on bag. I continued about a thousand feet over the churning ocean, buffeted by winds that threatened to knock me off course - threatened, but never succeeding.

My wings were powerful in this form. I was powerful in this form. It would take a lot more than a gale-force wind to knock me down.

Shortly, I came upon a rocky shoreline and a few scattered homes. I followed a meandering road that wound along the edge of the land, affording, undoubtedly, wonderful views of the ocean.

More homes appeared as the road angled inland. And there, through the driving rain, was the sparkling city of Bellingham. I circled above it within the clouds, looking for a good spot to land, and found one in a park near the university.

I alighted smoothly upon a bench because, in this form, I seemed to prefer landing on something - rocks, tree limbs, park benches - which I could never quite figure out.

Must be the bird of prey in me.

I tucked my wings in, and once again saw the vision of the woman in the flame - and soon, a curvy but toned mother of two, was squatting naked on the same park bench, a Samsonite carry-on bag looped around her ankle.

Sometimes it's fun to be me.

Weird, but fun.