Sometimes, when you're falling, it feels like you're flying, soaring, free at last. But not now. It's very clear, that I am spinning, flailing, crying, screaming for help... but no one can hear me. No one can see me. No one knows what is going on. The bright sun burns in my eyes, it's heat dancing across the rugged landscape. The rich blue sky mocking my blistering thirst. Dust kicks up into my eyes, and I brace myself for impact...

WHUMP!

"Ooof!" I gasp in the hot dry air, and roll. I've landed wrong, it hurts. To be honest, I'm glad it does, it means I'm not dead. It feels like I've been run over by a bulldozer, run through a wood-chipper, and bent like one of those big pretzels at the mall.

"Ahhh..." I moan, seeing the livid red of the sun through my eyelids. I can feel the bruises and welts forming, I think I'm bleeding too. I don't want to move. I've fallen into a deep ravine, to still be tortured by this bright headache-inducing light. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes again, as I try to choke back sobs, blood, and bile. Finally I give up.

I hold myself now, gently, trying not to move too much, it will hurt to much. It's been hours, or at least that's how it feels. I have no idea. I'm suffering. The sobs rack my body, causing it to shake. I guess that's why I didn't hear him coming.

"Are you okay?" I slowly pick my head up, and squint at the figure. He lands next to me gently as he can. Shadows fold in behind him.

"Looks like you took quite the spill." he notes, smiling. I hate him for that. That he can still smile. What is there to smile about? Nothing. He crouches down next to me. I want to shrink away, but I don't. Slowly, almost cautiously, he places a hand on my shoulder.

"Can I help you?" he asks, and I stare. Not understanding.

"I want to help you...Can I?" I continue staring. He smiles, and places his arms around me, giving me a hug. Tears leak out of my eyes, but I'm too drained to do anything about it. He holds me for a long time as I cry even more, and then kneels in front of me. I continue sitting there, holding my knees. He reaches into a bag I now notice at his side, pulling out a small bottle of water. My eyes widen, as my throat burns angrily. He offers it. I take it. It is so good. Cold and refreshing. He pulls out another, with a small cloth, and first-aid kit. I sit still, and allow him to clean me up. He smiles the whole time, and talks to me calmly, telling me how lucky I am to be alive, how wonderful the day is, but never asks me how I ended up here, and never accuses me of being stupid, or deserving it, or laughing.

He gives me one last look over, and then stands, helping me tentatively to my feet. I whimper in pain, he pats my hand in support. I want to crawl back to the floor, but at the same time cling to him and beg to get out. One is stronger then the other.

"Do you want to go?" he asks, and I nod. I want nothing more then to see this life he has described, to see all the glory he's told me of. But more importantly, I want to apologize, to make amends, to try again. He gives me a smile, but looks slightly pained himself.

"Then you must." I gasp, as he closes his eyes, wings unfolding from his back. He stands there, a light wind ruffling the feathers. Then, he does the unthinkable. He reaches into his bag and grabs a knife. Looking down at the joint in his quivering wing, he grabs it, and with one swift motion, slashes through it. Severing wings, one at a time. He blinks at the pain, but then holds them out in his hands. I stare.

"Take them. Go." The wings fade into dust, swirling up into the air, and settling onto me, I feel the wings regrow, instantly, onto me. He hands me his bag, and places a hand on my shoulder.

"I've been here. I know how to get out. You need these, and I am happy to give them to you." Without another word, he nodded, and gently squeezed my hand. Involuntarily, the wings spread, and I hovered in the air.

"Thank...Thank... Thank you." I say, kissing him on the cheek. He smiles, turning faintly pink.

"Go." he repeats, as I soar off into the sunset. Something tells me, he will be fine, and that he didn't even need wings at all. That he was there, because I needed him, and would go to whoever needed him next. I would see him again, someday.

Sometimes, when you're flying, soaring, free at last, you worry you might just fall. But always know, your wings and others' can help you soar to greater heights then you could ever even imagine.