Copyright – Roger Bultot
She never cared much for the view. The cables, rusty antennas, dirty windows and worn down facades were an irritating reminder of her robotic legs and half-burned skin.
Its been months since she last went out, crossing paths with the neighborhood kids. Cruel as only children can be, they threw rocks at her, splitting the skin of a barely healed head wound. Unfazed, she just stood there, a sad mixture of metal and blood.
It took her months to transform the legs into a pair of wings. Standing on the ledge, the world below faded away as she leaped.
Finally back into the folds of Friday Fictioneers…and it feels so good.