Time stopped the moment I recognized the driver. I clenched my fists and stepped back onto the curb but the car screeched to a stop and I knew he'd recognized me.
I could have run back into a building, found an exit into an alley. Instead I bolted into the middle of the street and froze on the crosswalk. My eyes met the driver's and I heard as if from a distance the honking horns and screams of cars and people.
My throbbing pulse sent cold pumps of blood through my body and my skin prickled, and my clothes dampened all over. I lifted my chin and held both of my arms forward and beckoned with my fingers.
The driver once compared my arms to a sparrow's legs, and I am small and brown like a sparrow. So I prayed so many years over for the wings of a sparrow but the only wings ever granted me were the ones to my daydreams and heart. Rather useless wings at that.
I wondered if my blood would paint the hood of that pristine white car as the driver revved his engine. I wondered if the feel of my snapping legs would signify some sort of strange relief.
I was tired of running.
Oh if I had the wings of a... I thought.
And then I felt arms around me and I saw my feet take the air as the man who snatched me swung me around. In the whirl of the spin, I saw other people, a crowd who had gathered on the crosswalk around forming a small shield of bodies and bones.
They all stood shoulder to shoulder.
I closed my eyes.