For as long as I can remember, I’ve had wings; black as a night with no stars. My parents rejected me; horrified that they made me. As soon as they knew about my wings, they completely blotted me out of their lives as if I never existed and put me up for adoption. Honestly, I don’t really have any memory of them. I wouldn’t even have known them except for the pictures and descriptions the Head gave me. Maybe it’s the wish I made on that day. The day I wondered why people wished they could fly like a bird or run like a cheetah. But I was little so I didn’t really pursue the question. I asked that question the day I was adopted. But if someone asked me that question now, I would probably say because it feels good to fly but I don’t really know about running. My name is Ala Pluma. Also known as the Black Angel.


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Loser, freak. Those words; I’ve come to know them as mine. I’m not the prettiest girl. I have brown, wavy hair that hangs above my shoulders and I’m a normal height of 5’5. I’m not that popular but I mean I don’t think I look like a dork. Oh well. At first I thought that it was normal to have wings but apparently it’s not. I first showed my wings in public in first grade. We threw the ball too high and got stuck on a ledge near the ceiling. When no one tried to fly up and get it I asked, “Why doesn’t anyone try to fly up there and get the ball?”
“Because, dummy, people can’t fly.” A classmate replied.
“Really?!” I replied astonished. “Well I’ll just go and get it if you guys won’t.” I felt the feathers grow on my back forming wings. I lifted myself up and reached for the ball. Then I heard a gasp. I could feel the stares on back so I turned around and asked, “What are you staring at?” The teacher and my classmates were staring at me with bug eyes. The teacher let out a horrified shriek and ran. My classmates were still there staring at me when someone called out the word to me: “You’re a freak. A freaky, freak.”
“No, I’m not,” I answered. But it didn’t seem like anyone heard me. I let myself down, completely forgetting about the ball. “Hey, I’m not a freak. I’m not. I promise,” I tried to tell them. I took a step forward to get closer, to be surrounded by my friends again. Nevertheless, they backed away with each step I took. I could feel warm tears stream down my face. “Wha-why won’t you come near me?” I asked. But no one answered. I finally collapsed into a little bundle of tears. I stayed in a corner for the rest of the day. When the teacher got back, they all stayed on the opposite side of the room.
The next day, no one would come near me or touch anything I touched first. I told Clara, the woman who adopted me, the day after. When I was finished my story she had a grim look on her face. She forced a smile and told me, “You’ll be going to a new school soon because you’re so smart,” But I knew that she was really transferring me because of my wings. On the first day of attending the new school, she whispered to me, “Remember: don’t use your wings.” She made me promise never to use my wings in public again.