Fly. That's what the planes did. Over Billy's head, they streaked across the sky like fireworks. Billy longed to join them in flight. He too, wanted to soar; to abandon all thoughts and just be free. But free was something Billy could not be. Unlike most kids, Billy was in chains. And unlike even those in chains, Billy was birthed into bondage.
His mother was a criminal and his father, unknown. It was in that very prison that he was born. For exactly what crime she was incarcerated, Billy did not know. Dying during child-birth, she never had the chance to tell him. The guards, however, knew. But they never saw fit to tell him. For knowledge was power and the less they had of the former, the less they had of the latter. It was a form of mental torture the guards loved to exact.
Billy hated it. Being denied knowledge of one's birth and origins, it was the ultimate torment. Fathoming about being born elsewhere was something Billy often did. He often wondered what it would be like to have a complete set of parents, to have them tell him bedtime stories or take him fishing. What a different life that would have been. Life now was a far cry from his imaginations. Besides the four walls of his cell, Billy knew next to nothing. His entire life could be summed up in five square meters.
As Billy climbed up the abandoned guard tower, he thought to himself what a sad and worthless existence his was.
It was New Year's eve and most of the guards were drunk. No one saw him climbing up the guard tower and then diving off. Nobody even noticed his disappearance until they discovered his body the next morning.
His body was deformed and splattered with blood; his head had become an ugly red mess. But unmistakeably etched onto his face, was a frozen smile.
Last night, for a brief moment, Billy flew.
