![]() ![]() The air train glides through the starry night so smoothly and my heart pounds so quickly that it feels as though I could soar into the sky at any moment. ![]() White wings, blue sky, gold circles above their heads, eyes turned up in surprise as though they couldn’t believe what the artist had painted them doing, couldn’t believe that their feet didn’t touch the ground. People cannot fly, though before the Society, there were myths about those who could. ![]() I smile at myself, at the foolishness of my imagination. The black behind me doesn’t worry me neither do the stars ahead. Now that I’ve found the way to fly, which direction should I go into the night? My wings aren’t white or feathered they’re green, made of green silk, which shudders in the wind and bends when I move-first in a circle, then in a line, finally in a shape of my own invention. ![]()
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