A Wish for Wings…

A young boy and girl around the ages of four (perhaps a year or two difference). They were running around the front yard of a home in the City of Syracuse. The cement steps with an attached metal rail led up to the front metal storm door. The white door’s darkened grooves were accented with bits of rust.

The boy lunged from the front porch driven animalistic youth. And he briefly chased his young female counterpart for a brief moment and swarmed around her. His speed was emphasized by animated white lines, which tapered off at the end, moved and bent with each hop and turn of his body, and they shortened down to nothing as he slowed to a stop.

He bared his teeth in an open moth grin. Fangs did not extend from his upper teeth. When he stretched the fingers on both hands simultaneously and closed his fists, adamantium claws didn’t protrude from his knuckles.

But as he swarmed around his counterpart, a couple outstretched fingers grazed her shoulder. As an escape, his arms shot down and to his side, and they angled slightly back. Cue the built-in boosters, it’s time to take flight.

No phone. No other technology. Just a little inspiration and raw imagination.

(And a little crush to remind him who who he’s fighting for.)


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