Nightwings
I was drowning.
No, wait.
I was falling.
I was falling. Falling into a dark abyss. I could feel the wind whirl around my hair as gravity pulled me down into Earth's core. I must have tripped. It's normal for that to happen; I always trip over something.
Ugh, I hate falling.
I hate that feeling you get in your stomach like you are going to die. I hate the way it makes you gasp for air in a mad hassle to survive.
But now, I’m no longer falling; instead, I’m flying.
I love flying.
I am free. Free to escape; to live in a world of my own imagination. Thoughts manifesting into tangible ideas as I sail across the night’s river. It’s my favorite place to be; no one to judge or critique me, no one to shun me, nothing to shy away from, no embarrassment.
You can’t be an outcast in a group of one.
Here, I am safe.
Here isn’t really a place, per say, but instead, it exists solely in my mind, in that time between being awake and asleep. Walking the line between dry sand and a building wave just about to crash onto shore. A precious moment stretched out into thousands.
I wanna stay here forever.
In times of distress, when my heart palpitates, and my skin sweats, and my vision goes blurry from the tears, the soothing whispers try to seduce me to stay. And how I want to. I don’t need to worry about my appearance, or my assignment that's due, I could just fly away. But I know I shouldn’t: staying here too long is dangerous. It’s deadly. I know that if I stay, I will never be allowed to leave. That can be such an enticing thought. Sometimes I’m lured in for longer than I should be, but I am always pulled away at the last second. Sleep grabs my hand like an old friend and whisks me away to a land of nonsensical dreams.
But in the morning, when my alarm clock screams at me to wake up, I wish I could have stayed longer. Instead, I am shoved into a place where I shift endlessly from room to room as assignment after assignment gets piled on. I listen to the chatterings of people as I wonder why they waste their breath with meaningless things such as insults and gossip. I don’t understand. In a room full of people, I would still be lonely. Yet, I desperately want someone to hold on to. To steady me from my fall. Whatever I have now, slides through my fingers like liquid.
I find comfort in the strangest of things.
The books I fill with emotion and the characters I regard as friends. The TV shows I spend hours watching, more interested in the lives of fictional people then I am my own. The whimsical stories I weave from thin air. And most certainly, my nighttime escape. Which, overtime, I have started to call my Nightwings, because they allow me to fly through my thoughts and mind.
The only other thing that I’ve found something close to comfort in is, what some may call, my “best friend.”
Like me, she was alone too. Always too negative and complaining about things, all just to hide the fact that she just cared too much. I don’t remember how we met. All I know is that we took each other under our wings, and it had lessened the burden of loneliness a little.
Her name was Hailey Blanc.
She was an only-child, and often had difficulty interacting with other people. She was anxious about elevators and long car rides, and stressed about her future. She was fragile--one wrong move, and it seemed like she would break. No matter what she had to say, I would always listen. It made me feel special and wanted. She became, in a matter of weeks, one of the few things I would want to live on for. Until one day we got in an argument. I don’t remember what it was about this time. But all I can remember was my voice screaming,
“I hate you!”
She said the same thing, then walked out in a huff.
The next day passed by as usual.
I didn’t expect anything different. But I had a sinking feeling deep in my belly. I wished that maybe Hailey would have come back at some point to demand an apology. It was unlikely that she would be the first to say sorry. It’s just the way she was: she let you know that she wanted to tell you something by demanding that you say it first. And I was ready to have her back. I needed her to come back.
I couldn’t be all alone again.
So I sat, waiting and waiting. Patiently. I would have probably waited forever, so long as there was the hope for an,
“I’m sorry, I take everything back.”
It was when I was called out of class by the principal that I lost that hope.
I was lead to an office, a grim look on their face. Wincing every few seconds, as if practicing what to say in their head. I felt nervous, a heavy weight on my chest making it difficult to breathe. We sat in silence for a while until the principal cleared her throat. A dark aura resonating throughout the room.
“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this.” They began, choosing their words carefully. I felt like I was in the middle of a soap opera--at the very end of the episode where it leaves the fans on a cliffhanger.
“Your teachers have told me that you were a friend of Hailey Blanc.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Two days ago, she and her whole family got into a car accident. No one survived. They all died on impact-” their voice cracked, but continued on, “There was no way for medics to save them. I really am so sorry, Kiress. The school counselor will be available anytime you need to talk-”
“It’s okay.” My voice came out barely a whisper. “We weren’t really friends in the first place. I just kinda knew her.”
Lie.
“We just didn’t get along very well.”
Lie.
The words just tumbled out of my mouth. I didn’t care what I was saying anymore.
“If you’ll excuse me, I don’t want to miss the lesson in biology today. We have a test coming up.”
Another lie--I could care less about cell regeneration.
I stood up and left. Not bothering what the principal had to say. 
“I hate you.”
Those words echoed in my head on repeat. Those were our last words. I never got to apologize. I never got to thank her for chasing away my loneliness.  I never got to thank her for being my first and only friend.
“I hate you, too!”
Maybe she really did hate me. Only sticking around to get a kick out of how pathetic I was. But it’s not like I cared.
Lie.
I was alone again.
It’s not like I cared.
For the next couple of weeks, teachers would constantly pull me out of class, that same look on their face: mouths turned slightly downwards at the corners, eyebrows pinched together, eyes wide--watching me for any reaction is they asked, “are you okay?” 
“I’m fine.” I would reply curtly.
I was fine. I was.
I was fine with being by myself.
It’s not like I cared.
It’s not like I cared if the only person I talked to were the thoughts in my head.
Lie.
It’s not liked I cared about the looks on everyone’s faces when I passed by.
Lie.
It’s not like I cared if Hailey’s name left an aftertaste on my tongue.
Lie.
It’s not like I cared if she haunted my dreams until I woke up cold and sweaty in the middle of the night.
Lie.
It’s not like I cared that I would never see her again.
It's not like I cared that I would never say sorry.
It’s not like I cared.
I was fine.
Fine.
I was fine.
Everything was fine.
Lies.
All of it--lies.
Filthy, dirty lies that plagued my head and mouth as I shuffled by on autopilot. They clouded my eyes so that all I could see was black and white. They stuffed up my ears like cotton balls so all I could hear were the muffled droning of people’s voices. They filled my thoughts so all I could breathe were my words that weren’t the truth.
They sickened me. I needed to escape. I needed to get away. I needed to seek safety. I needed to soar.
I closed my eyes, giving into my desires.
So now I’m flying.
No, wait.
I’m falling this time. And I have no intention of trying to grab hold onto anything to stop.
I know I should leave, but I think I want to stay here a little longer. I need comfort, I need to be by myself. I want to take my nightwings and fly away into the darkness.
Forever.
Because I wan’t fine.
Nothing was.