Hidden Wings

• Caitlin Berryman, Grade 12, Sacred Heart College
• Short Story
• 2014

Excellence Award in the 'Write As Rain 2014' competition

Cup of tea balanced precariously in one hand, I settled into my chair to watch Shelley play. Facing the window with her back to me, I watched her black silhouette move in stark contrast to the golden light of the still afternoon. Her hair, as raven-coloured as her wings, swayed gently to the solitary notes of her violin.
She really has no idea, I thought solemnly.
Embracing the chaos that came with running her particular law firm, Shelley Hunter had little time to indulge herself in favourite pastimes; the vast majority of her hours were consumed with planning the exact ways in which she would obliterate her client’s opposition. Her precision and ruthlessness saw names appear on her list best known for pretty wings and even prettier bank accounts.
The development of wings in some humans had caused widespread segregation. Although years passed and laws against prejudice on either side were established, it was strange to see winged people interact with those who were flightless.
I moved in with Shelley about four months ago; as her firm grew, she conceded that she would need an assistant. After scaring off the first four potential helpers, she complained to a mutual acquaintance that no one was willing to go to her lengths for her clients. She required a flatmate as well as an aide, but her… personal habits seemed to deter many a person.
So here I am now, sitting across from the most wonderful person I’ve ever encountered. Papers may scatter every available surface and legal books are stacked in their dozens on the coffee table, but this is home.
Still, despite everything, I can’t bear to show her my own wings.
I’ve been cursed with snow-white wings, which always drew attention from passers-by on the streets of London. My parents held me close as suspicious men stared a second too long at the eight-year-old girl with the pretty feathers.
So, as I embarked upon high school, I hid myself under baggy sweaters and comfortable binding. Nobody knew my secret. My short stature means I can still get away with being a little soft around the waist.
“Jean,” Shelley stopped abruptly, the silence as noticeable as her soft violin notes. “Have you seen the paper? Page three.”
I grabbed the newspaper from its perch on top of Shelley’s latest book purchase. “Popular winged businessman plunges to his death,” I read aloud. “Wait a second, this was one of yours!”
“It was. If he couldn’t face his own actions, I have no sympathy.”
This was typical Shelley speaking - cold, detached, empty. Nobody gave her the chance to show how much she cares about her clients, or how every client’s story personally affects her.
One day, I’ll tell her how wonderful she is.
One day, I’ll show her my wings.