Taking flight. It never means something good. Taking flight. The plane seldom makes pleasure trips. Taking flight means someone has lost a child, a parent, a friend, or a lover. Taking flight. It means the pain of having to look at someone who never thought they would be on the ground, the subject of an investigation, with eyes scanning every detail of their body, being poked and prodded in the places that they were most insecure about. Taking Flight. Someone loses a loved one, but the one who was lost, gains wings to take flight and escape the cold, soft dirt surrounding their body. Taking flight. Running, lungs burning with adrenaline and tiredness, legs on fire and feet numb to the hot cement, nausea takes over, everything is burning with a sick excitement. Tackled, grounded. Arms are pulled behind the back in a way that is bound to make them sore the next day. Cool metal handcuffs are applied to the wrists and his wings are cut. He will never take flight again, but he has those memories of the plane landing, the woman surrounded in dirt, and the chase to sustain him. A smirk forms as he begins the endless reliving of those memories. Taking flight.