The Window Grill

I stare out of the window, breathing in the cool midnight air. I inhale the night breeze. It's like water after a heavy excercise, refreshing and exhilirating. I can watch the twinkling city lights against the blackened sky for as long as I want. A few cars drive past, with loud music and people happily shouting in excitement. A solitary lamp, infested with insects, beams down at the road below nevertheless. The dark, deep sky is starless, and a moon emerges out of a cloudy background. It's a beautiful scene. My head rests upon the cold, hard grills, relaxing my mind, purging it of all thoughts.

I suddenly wonder, as my eyes wander over to the horizon, if they could take the rest of me with them. Can I fly? Can I not only feel the breeze through my nose, but through every other part of my body also? Can I look below to find the twinkling lights I admire so much look up to me? Need I be afraid, if I could never fall down?

I close my eyes. I can fly. I can feel the wind rushing down me, my spine shivering with excitement. I may be too afraid to look down, but I need not, for all the rest of my senses are enough to tell me that I am gliding through the midnight, cutting through the chilly wind. The excitement intrigues me, I feel curious. Am I? Can I? Should I? - The questions bubble up. Yet I trust my senses too much to have to prove them right. Besides, I am too afraid to discover that they are wrong.

Finally, the curiosity takes over. I open my eyes to realize that the world underneath is obstucted by the cold grills of the window. I wasn't flying, or, was I?

Did I really have to fly, to be able to fly? Wasn't the fact that I could visualize it enough? Did fictitious authors never experience the stories that they wrote?

I did fly, I really believe so. I know I can, I believe I can fly!