Flight
I like to fly. Flying is fun. I don’t get why my brother hates to fly. All he has to do is believe. I tried teaching him, but he doesn’t seem to understand. I try showing him how I do it, but he just stands their staring at me. Staring is so rude, I’d wish he’d stop. I hate staring. Staring is just bad manners. Why does he always stare at me? He just looks endlessly, as if he sees my very soul. Why is it that only he can see me? Why am I so invisible?
My friends don’t talk to me unless I speak first? Do they have nothing to say to me? Am I not good enough? Why do I seek others attention? Why did I have to show them all what I could do?’ Why did I have to be big? Why am I a screw up? Why was that screw loose? Why was that screw so important? Why did the screw come loose? Why did the loose screw affect my plane? Why did the plane crash? Why was the crash during the show? Why did my brother have to watch?
I like to fly. I like to fly in the clouds. I like to fly over the sea. I like to fly away. I like that I can fly. I like that my brother can see me. I like that he talks to me. I like that he misses me. I like how he’ll be seeing me soon. I like that about him a lot.
