(Written for Friday Fictioneers)
“I’m a bird Mommy”, Jimmy had squealed.
“The airplane is flying, not us!” Julia had replied, her knuckles white from clutching the armrest.
“I know we’re birds Mommy, you and me”, Jimmy had whispered.
Julia was white as a sheet. But she had to do this. For Jimmy. Oh how her boy had loved to fly! And fly he did – straight in to an unfortunate mountain last summer.
Julia held her breath as the countdown began.
She squealed and skydived right into the arms of the blue sky.
“We’re really are BIRDS!”, she shouted at an imaginary speck thousands of feet below – which looked like her son in a wheelchair.