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This piece has no title

I rose above the clouds in an instance of triumph, basking in the sound of pure honor and majesty. It all surrounded me in one moment of glory. Wings made of light and wind emerged from my back, setting me free, and my eyes saw the world below. I could see everything.

It would have been perfect if not for the next instant I was pricked by the needle of fate and banished to the depths of hell to live out a lonely immortality. My wings dispersed into a ring of ashes that glowered before me.

When asked if it was worth it, I answered, but there was no sound and as I write this my hand falls to pieces in the resistance of what was.

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Copyright © © 2015r Hiro Swann All Rights Reserved

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