The Parchment and Quill Collective

Written By Lou Turnbull (2022)

How he wished to run.

How he wished to sprint down the street at a godawful hour in the morning, screaming at the top of his lungs.

How he wished to bolt through crowds, barging past people unapologetically, not caring about the profanities screamed at him.

How he wished he could feel the wind whipping his face, hear his blood pumping in his eardrums, feel his heart climbing out of his throat with every racing beat.

No, actually.

How he wished to Fly.

To go faster than anyone thought possible, to let go of his worries and anxieties of the past and just focus on the here and now.

To let the wind carry him wherever he went with no true destination and no cares in the world.

To just have freedom.

But that was a reality he’d never see.

A dream he’d never experience, no matter how much daydreaming he did. No matter how much yearning and pleading and begging, that dream would never come to fruition; the reality he craved crumbling in his hands like ash.

If there was a God above, he wanted to curse the omnipotent being for being so fucking cruel to his creations.

Sure, there were people out there that deserved this, but what had he ever done to earn such a bad hand?

He would beg for forgiveness for eternity if it meant his dream could become achievable again, even if it was just for five seconds before becoming unattainable again. He would give a limb, his firstborn son, his entire life savings just so his perfect reality became true for just a fraction of his miserable life.

Wishing and Dreaming only satisfied a man for so long. Now he wanted the real thing.

He didn’t want to wish to run anymore, to feel the wind beating down his skin.

He didn’t want to wish to fly any longer, to finally be free of his worries and fears.

He wanted an escape, a release, a singular moment where he could check off item number one on his bucket list.

Deep down, whether he wanted to admit it or not, he knew it would never happen.

He knew that God would remain cruel and keep him bound to his prison, ignoring his prayers for otherwise.

He knew that he would never run or fly, to feel at ease as his heartbeat echoed in his head.

And in these walls, this prison, he knew he would never get the chance.

Instead of running, he was left with limping down the ghostly corridors, the smell of disinfectant overpowering his senses.

Instead of flying, he was left with wheeling himself into rooms on a rickety hospital wheelchair.

It left him longing for a life he could not have, a reality that would never be in his grasp.

So here he lay, the beeping of the monitor vaguely reminding him he was alive, while all he could do, was wish.