Wings of a Phoenix

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The dawning age of manned flight is just taking off, as we follow a young inventor in his pursuit to soar among the clouds.

Submitted: August 25, 2013

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Submitted: August 25, 2013

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Rippling golden grass danced in the wind as the hillside bathed in the morning light. Two people sat atop the hill. The first, a young woman, lay comfortably on a checkered blanket. The other, a young male, kneeled hunched over a large metallic structure that lay flat, sunken into the grass. 

The fair hair maiden held up a ripe strawberry and game the man a glance. Fiddling with an odd metallic mechanism with his hands, the man remained oblivious. She began to pick at the strawberry, one seed at a time. Smiling, she asked, “What’s your first thought, when you awake?”

The young man lowered the silver mechanism, smirked at the thought, and gave her a cocky glance and answered, “Well, having seen you amidst my dreams my thoughts start with you, but after a minute or two of diminishing the morning flurry, I supposed my thoughts fall to, what the day has in store for me.”

A wry look adorned her face having been unsatisfied with his answer.

“Take this morning for example,” he brought the silver contraption back up a continued fiddling with it and continued, “This, here, this hill, my wings, the Phoenix, this was all I could think of, all I can think.” He glance back at her and watched as she took a juicy bite out of the tip of the strawberry.  With smile a scoff, he added, “Now pleas, quite distracting me with your seductive manner.”

In a flirty tone she said, “Oh, I’m sorry,” she then began to apply the strawberry to her lips as though it were lipstick.

Chuckling, he got up and paced over to her, stopping and standing just in from of her. He then knelt down till their faces were barely apart and stared into her eyes. Plucking the strawberry from her finger he tossed it in his mouth and began chewing with a smirk adorning his face.

She sat up, reached out around his neck and pulled him close; they kissed as strawberry sauce covered their mouths. She then pushed him back away from her and as she brought a napkin to her face she said, “Go now, Flyboy, you’ll pay for that one later.”

He smiled then sat up, wiping her mouth on his sleeve as he paced back to his machine. Picking up metallic object and a tool, another second of fiddling was all it took as the sound of tune of ticking sounded out. “There we go,” he spoke a he kneeled, placing the object into the much larger contraption. Satisfied, he lifted it, careful not to tear its thick papered wings.

It took him a minute to strap the contraption onto him like a rather obnoxious backpack made of ling metal limbs extending along his arms and off down every finger. Her rose both arms revealing giant mechanical wings.

“Darling,” he spoke, straining to look back at her, “mind come finish strapping me in?”

She rose and pace over to him, carefully maneuvering around the massive wings. Moving to mere inches from him she caressed his chest, grabbed a strap and pulled as tightly a she could on it. Her gasped a little, then relaxed as she fastened the latch. She then reached up and kissed him one last time for good measure, before saying, “Break a leg.”

He turned to the wind, opened his wings and began to run down the hill. Gaining speed, he began lift, sore into the sky. He let out festive laugh, then the wind changed and he plummeted to the ground.


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