Wings. What kind of messed up God had the terrible idea to bestow it upon us, eh? My back aches as I strain to keep my wings folded behind me but still leaving room to lean back against my chair in my cramped booth. There’s only so much room you can have with such bulging and straining weights on your back that constantly twitch and jerk like they have a mind of their own. I groan quietly, wishing I’d been blessed with a pair of tiny cherub wings like Cheryl from accounting— boy, did she have it lucky. I remember distinctly all the jealous glares she got when she shuffled into the office on her first day. I also glared— I can’t lie. Having such tiny, easily manoeuvrable wings like that tends to spring out the jealousy in people. The distinct noise of a stack of papers falling somewhere outside my booth doesn’t even make me flinch, that’s the second time today it’s happened. I could tell you without even peeking over my walls that someone has accidentally stretched their wings and knocked the stack off a table— it tends to happen. Complaints aside, I suppose being able to leap from the office balcony— twenty stories up, by the way— being able to fly over traffic and be home in five minutes isn’t really that bad… I’d love to see Cheryl attempt THAT with the pitiful little twigs on her back. Yes, the transportation aspect is pretty neat after all. A lot of people do it nowadays, we actually managed to lower the carbon footprint just because flying is so much easier. So there is the good and the bad, I suppose..

“Alfred!” I yelped as the air filled with papers. “No flapping in the copy room!” “Sorry! I needed to stretch! I had a cramp!” He grabbed at the papers, trying to rectify the situation. I did the same, though I knew it was futile. “Those were alphabetized… The meetings starts in five minutes! I do not need this today!” “I’m sorry,” he said again, crumpling the edges of the completely mixed-up report as he shoved the pages into a stack. “You could’ve used a stapler though!” “It’s jammed. Someone decided to use it to make a bouquet of their shed feathers!”

Zephyr rested on the handle of her broom. Her mind adrift with the white whirls of clouds beyond the window. Working on floor six hundred, at the pinnacle top of the office, the views outside were a painting come to life. Just like the land that housed the office’s foundations, another floating island hovered amongst the sky. Cradled in a backdrop of azure, the luscious, vibrant greens of the rolling hills and sparkling waves of the lakes called to Zephyr as a hungry hatchling would to their mother. She wanted to be over there, on that other world. She needed to be over there. Where the air cleared one's lungs instead of clogged them, and everyone could soar between the clouds without having to dispense a fee. But that idea could only ever be a dream. No one had ever heard of a caretaker like her managing to break to the other side. A grinding creak snapped Zephyr from her daydream daze. To her left stood Sir. His floor length wings dominated his office doorway, the narrow angles of his body a black pinstripe against the monochromatic beasts. He was irked, his black eyebrows a dagger's edge, his snow-white features stained by anger’s red brush. The clock chimed, striking seven. “Where is Ica?” he growled, his voice harsh, a grain of rock salt found on terrestrial shores. Three rows of occupied desks ran the expanse of the sixth hundredth floor. In each seat—bar one—the monotonous scratching of pens seized, and an agitated gust of wings fluttered as every employee's head veered towards their boss. Mouths remained shut. Two hundred separate pairs of eyes blinked in synchronised silence. Zephyr leaned harder onto her broom, her own floor-length wings threatening a quake. “Anyone?” Sir persisted. As wide-eyed heads began to shake and the worm in Zephyr’s stomach began to squirm, the communal trapdoor burst open. Dazzling white light burst from the floor, and a collective sigh escaped the tightly wound chests of all. Curling coils of mist radiated from Ica’s body, and as he hurried past, Zephyr caught a strong whiff of bitter smoke. “Apologies,” he said, wrenching the chair from beneath his desk. He unfurled his wax-yellow wings, the wood groaning as he took his seat. Sir flapped a raging monochrome storm. Wind cracked the stagnant air. Its exuding ferocity whipped up hair and tossed loose paper. “Late,” Sir simmered. “Again.” “Yes. Sorry. Sorry, Sir.” Once Sir had returned to his office, Zephyr swept her broom closer to Ica’s desk, and whispered, “What happened?” “Happened?” His head tilted a fraction towards her, but his eyes, as if sealed by wax, stayed focused on his open ledger. “Why... Why do you think something happened?” “Because you're smouldering—literally— and there’s soot on your shoulders.” The wax snapped, and Ica hastily brushed the sparkling specks from his white tunic. “I don't know what you mean.” “You tried to get over again, didn't you.” He dipped the nib of his golden quill into the ink. The white feather shuddered. “I’m not talking to you.” “How did you do it? Or not do it, I should say.” Zephyr glanced out the window, over the heads of the other workers. The Sun had snuck a little higher, and her omnipercipient rays felt over the land, raking up the shadows and, in turn, anyone who went beyond where they were supposed to be. The lands guard—no need for security when The Sun saw all. Creator, protector, and sometimes executioner. But luckily for Zephyr, not in Ica’s case. “She almost caught you,” Zephyr murmured, “didn't she? You flew too close, and she caught you. So, flying over the top is out of the question,” Zephyr said, more to herself than Ica’s scowl. “But going below might—” “Look. I'm glad my misfortunes are helping you and all, but please,” Ica’s eyes wandered to Sir's closed door. “Sir hates me enough already; I just want to get some work done.” “Will you meet me then, by the engine room? After office hours, of course.” “Why?” “Because we both want the same thing, to get away from this grey, mundane rock—this office. And I think we can help each other.” After a moment, Ica beamed, his smile as wide as the sky.

Right, I tried to do the prompt for today (poetry ending line), but I couldn’t even write a story for it. So here’s some tenuous linking from the prompt to the sort of thing I make up during class rather than paying full attention: (This comprises the opening section of one half of the story) Aryani Neven meets ‘Sky’ Eyvindr, a boy without wings. When he lets slip that his parents — both government workers, just like Aryani’s — are planning to change laws on discrimination against those with wings for the better, both go missing unexpectedly. Aryani, believing that she may be at fault, offers to help Sky escape Halos City, intending to leave herself anyway. They begin to stake out the Ring around the City, and while Aryani keeps far back, Sky gets close enough to recognise two people on the Ring (a sort of magnet for feathers). But this is the night of the Switch-Off, and as such he’s forced to watch their bodies plummet down into Wareborn and its surroundings. (He doesn’t tell Aryani he sees this, of course) There’s three months before they can try to escape now, though, and they know this for sure. The Switch-Off of the Ring happens roughly tri-monthly, and Aryani is winged. They cannot risk being too early, or too late. So they spend the next three months trying — and succeeding — to hack into government computers in order to work out when the next Switch-Off is. Their only way of getting off of Halos is reliant on it. On the night, both sneak out to the boundary, silent until they’re almost to the point where the Ring will pull Aryani to it due to her wings. At this point, she asks Sky if he’s actually okay with this. After all, he will die if they make a mistake. If they misjudge how long the Ring takes to turn, or if he jumps too late, too early — he cannot fly whilst Aryani has a chance to survive. (And yeah, both survive it because the plot of the thing I’m working on kinda depends on it).

(Sorry for rushing) Welcome to WingWorks Incorporated where we take wings to their maximum potential! Here at WingWorks we’re all born with wings. We can give you wings to work with too! You’ll be able to fly anywhere you can, except for towards the sun, if you do that, you’ll melt! Our wings power us. They power our facilities, they power our society. But they can even make everything float away into space. In space, a rocket impales our wings and the victim floats in space for eternity. You don’t want that, do you?

“ I was an intern slash assistant for the largest angel company in the world. I wasn’t an angel but they still took the risk and hired me. It was the best 3 years of my life. Until today. This company has offered me, a nobody, the ability to become an angel. It’s a dream I’ve had for a while since I discovered there are people born with wings. I never thought I had a chance. But now I do. So everyone raise your glass to new opportunities and I am really excited to be going into the new year with a pair of wings on my back.” I brought my glass up and bumped glasses with the head of Angels incorporated. I looked down at my white angelic dress as I cheered to a new year. The days in the office for the year to come. Not as an intern but as a full fledged angel.

I never thought that I would achieve them. If you would have told me a year ago that I would be standing here today, I would have laughed in your face. I thought that getting your wings was unachievable, especially for someone like me. I wasn’t born a full angel, so this was incredible for me. I didn’t give up, even when I felt like it, and it finally paid off. I have finally gotten my wings and I can help others get theirs too!

A feathered figure flapped frantically through the bustling anarchic skies of the thunderous raining storm. His head had to remain forward for his beak to guide him. Droplets of transparent water spattered on his black tux. Another crackle in the sky clashed in the clouds, he had believed that today would be easier than others but the owl folks weren't expecting such severe weather today. Finally, the small tawny owl found his perch, an old giant tree with ivory bark. His wings tried hard to stabilize, nonetheless, his body plummeted hard onto the landing and he rolled with claws swipping feebly in the air. “Dagr!” Screeched a figure from a higher perch, the brown-gray figure plunged dramatically his pale-yellow eyes glarred at Dagr sharply. “You’re late!” He opened his wings to look larger, “The hunter-talons are waiting for you to sort their kill!” Dagr recognized the boobook owl folk, Liberius, who could not give Dagr a break. The warden-talons often sounded like they constantly had fish scales stuck in their throat. Dagr recovered, straightening himself up, his orifices gazing at Liberius as he composed himself. “Sorry sir,” Dagr cooed “I will got on top of it-!” Dagr shook water off his wings and immediately took off awkwardly to the sorting branch. Feeling the warden-talons eyes behind him as he did, Dagr mentally cringed.

Being a video game designer is pretty interesting, especially when you need to make a sequel to one, like I had to do today. First, I got dressed, had breakfast, then flown over to the building where I work. I swooped in through the 32nd floor, my floor. People who code games like me are called Wing Coders, by the way. I heard that one of my coworkers had a stuffy nose, hope they’re all right (Wink!) I got settled in my office, opening my laptop. I worked on making a sequel to Wing Bucket, which is about flying food. Pretty weird, but fun. After about 2 hours, decided to fly around a bit to stretch my wings. They’re this beautiful shade of cerulean. I had an omelet for lunch, kept working, and went back home at around 10. Pretty normal day. I hope you guys got the wink! 🤞

“Do you really think we used to have tails?” “Yes! Evolution proved this. Scientists have proved this. Look it up,” exclaimed Stacy, who was growing tired of this conversation. She didn’t have time for trivial office small talk. Maybe after work she’d be willing to discuss evolution and tails, but now was not the time. She was rushing to get the holiday newsletter out to her manager. It had to be approved in two hours, and while she felt like she finished it yesterday, there was no problem she couldn’t find or create for herself. So now was the time to make the decision, red or green colored font for the headline? “That’s just so…strange,” Paul stated, “like, imagine if we had four arms, or a horn on our head? Then those things just went away? Or no ears! Just holes that we can hear out of. Like lizards!” “What would be nice is if you didn’t have a mouth,” joked Stacy, “or wings. Would you stop shaking them so hard? You’re getting feathers everywhere! Sit down.” Paul stares at her from a moment before he sits back at his desk across from Stacy. Her painted red nails typed away as she attempted to focus on the task in front of her. Paul wondered why she kept going undo, redo, undo, redo, when he took a glimpse of her desk. “Sorry, it’s a habit,” Paul apologized while he moved his arm back and stroked one wing, trying to soothe it, “I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes with the boss. I’m going to propose a commercial idea for the first time, and I admit I’m a little nervous.” Stacy stopped the clicking of her keyboard, and looked over at Paul. She felt a tinge of guilt and sympathy for him. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so sharp just now. They both looked down at their keyboards. “Hey,” chirped Stacy, “you’re gonna do just fine. Oscar’s not as bad as you think. I know this job is new and he can be a little scary, but coming from someone who has been to the Christmas parties around here, Oscar is nothing to be worried about.” “He’s got such a mean snarl though, Stace.” “Yeah, but he also sings Mariah Carey like there’s no tomorrow,” argued Stacy, “he puts on this whole spunky outfit and everything. Trust me, he’s got good sides.” Paul smiled up at his friend. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “You’re gonna fly up there and you’re gonna nail it. I’ve seen your work. I know your work.” Stacy looked at him with solid eyes. She tried her best to reassure Paul, but she understood how hard it is to keep a job in this business, in this economy. “Thanks, Stacy,” Paul grinned, “what’re you working on?” “Ugh.” Stacy moved her eyes away from Paul and back to her computer, “I can’t decide the colors and font for this newsletter I’m working on. I feel like my work is never complete. I don’t want it to look unplanned and messy. Like I threw it together” Paul looked at his colleague in disbelief, “You’ve never been one to wing things. I’ve known you for too long to know that you’re the most precise creature I’ve ever met. Let me see.” Paul got back up from his chair and joined Stacy at her desk, fairly close to her now. He watched as she went undo, redo, undo, redo. “That one,” Paul finalized, “it’s got more uumph, more gusto, it stands out.” “You know what, you’re right,” Stacy chimed. Such a silly little task that is so minuscule, she was overthinking it yet again. She looked to her side, at Paul. Her green eyes meeting his brown. It must’ve been too much eye contact because it ended abruptly with him clearing his throat, and his wings shook a tiny bit. “I’m gonna go practice my presentation in the bathroom one more time. Wish me luck,” Paul said. Stacy didn’t get a chance to say he didn’t need it before Paul flew away to the restroom. She shook her head, looked back at her computer, prepared the document, and hit send.