i'm learning to fly, but i ain't got wings {goldie}

Vivio eridanus

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"...I'm home..."

I throw my bag down by the door hapzardedly before kicking it to the side so my way was clear to walk. I carefully take off my shoes and place them side by side, contrasting how I treated my poor abused little bag. Ma and Pa were probably working late again, although it might as well not be classified as late anymore since this is basically their normal schudele now. Oh well, boo hoo.

Let's see, the only thing I really have to get done today is some extra schoolwork, so all in all not much to do. I think Ma had said we still had some food left so I thankfully could make supper without having to go get anything. God last time I had to go the market there was a bunch of awful upperclassmen hanging out there and being their brain-dead, vain selves and harassing the younger kids there. The only thing they will ever amount to is being electrocution dummies for the factories.

I drag myself out of my own runaway train of thought and begin walking upstairs. I'll probably just have supper later, but now I have things to do. I open up the creaky door to the door and enter my own sanctuary. Books in piles are scatter around the room according to where I last read them and my desk to the side of my room against the wall received most of the book distribution.

I walk over to the corner of my room where a basket sits full of tubes and I pull out a long rolled up paper tube and unfetter it, battling against the curve of the paper. I remember working on this project awhile ago just for fiddling's sake but it never got anywhere. I have alot of time on my hands so I might as well pick it back up again. It just got buried in all of the other 'inventions' I worked with.

Really, it was dumb to call them inventions. That implies that they actually got somewhere and did something useful. I just liked fiddling around with stuff. Pa brought back alot of scraps from the factory, really interesting stuff. That's the kind of 'inventing' I like to do, not going out of my way to make special things with special parts, but working with those pieces which have been long abandoned and thought not worth anything.

I take the long piece of paper and look at the sketch on it and I go to grab some pieces of scraps from one of the drawers on my shelves. Spite how many times Ma says my room is a mess, I manage to pull out a nice organized chaos system. From about five drawers on this shelf I pull out about four pieces each and suddenly my arms are filled to the brim with pieces. With the paper tube situated in my crux of my elbow I struggle to walk over to my desk without falling over all the stacks of books scattered around the floor. I think I knocked one or too over in the process but I managed to arrive safely at my desk. 

I drop all the pieces down on my desk with a big clunking sound before I start throwing some books that were on my desk to the ground to make room for my tinkering. Now filled with thought and passion for this little project I rush over across my room to grab some other tools I had. All of them were in different scatter places but I managed to find them before too long. I put them all down at the desk and turn my desk light on, ready to work with possible modifications and ideas running through my head.

I am just about to take my seat when I am rudely thrown out of my creative process.

Knock Knock

What possible reason would anyone come here now? There's no way Ma or Pa could be home yet and this isn't really the season for when salesmen come and go from house to house. I very begrudgingly turn off my desk light and walk downstairs, dragging myself downwards in a very teenage fashion.

"C-Coming! What is it?" 

I shout as I almost trip on the last steps of stairs. Before I even fully make it down I manage to see the person at the door peeking through my window. It was a young boy? I think he might have been from across the street or something? What could he want here?

I open the door and look at the boy while he speaks. His flight goggles are the first thing that catch my interest, you never really see those things anymore, especially not here where there are almost no pilots. Before I loose myself in a thought tangent about pilots from the old days and the nature of flight I pull myself back into the present. 

"Plane...? Oh, like a toy?" I tilt my head in confusion at first but of course I know it can't be an actual old-styled plane. Still though, I can't think of any children who play with toy planes. It's all rather odd I suppose.

Made by Capt. Meows @ Delusional