Mistic Pets

Welcome to Issue 11
Created by The Mistic Pets Team

Flying With the Clouds
Written By Malik

You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you this but my father could fly, as could his father before him. He wasn’t my real father, but he welcomed me into his house, loved me, nurtured me and cherished me as though we’d always been together. As though I were the best part of his life. He was my father and he could fly.

His wings were the most glorious things. They were full and powerful and when he hugged me in them, more than anything, I felt safe and loved. With them, he took the immaterial and made it into something he could support himself with. Like a god, he created something from nothing, wasn’t I a living testament to that?

He was made for the sky. It fit him like a second skin and the clouds flocked to him like lovers. I admired my father’s kindness; his strength and I wholeheartedly wanted to live up to that figure soaring so far above me. At night I would dream I had wings as radiant as his and together we would rise aloft to fly among the clouds. Only at night was I able to finally taste of his world, for as much as I loved my father, there was always this part of him I could never reach. The part of him that was able to fly where I wasn’t. The part I could only grasp at it in my dreams.

Then my father passed away.

The dreams, too, ceased.

Everything grew cold and dark for me then. I was young and his loss was a blow from which I never fully recovered. My dreams of clouds became endless spirals of regret and sorrow. When I awoke, it was no longer with a soaring heart, but with a throat wracked dry by sobs and a jaw sore from clenching my teeth in my sleep.

I had no mother, I had no father and now I had no father again, I hated it and hated myself because of it. Only someone as cursed as me could manage to kill every parent they’d ever had. I was a bad person and I was alone because of it, and because it was my fault, I ran away. I ran everywhere and nowhere: it didn’t matter. Wherever I went, sadness and self-loathing ran at my heels for company. Every place I passed was the same as the others and none of them were any good.

Then I met Zulime.

A creature with abilities I’d never seen before, she took me to her occult little shop without speaking a word. There, among the dust and herbs, she offered me the wings I’d so desperately wished for once upon a time. And I was tempted, sorely tempted. But as I reached out for her poppet whose likeness was too similar to his for me to ignore, the rustle of feathers echoed in my ears and with them came a sweet voice that sounded like home.

I couldn’t hear what it said, but it didn’t matter because in my heart I understood. What I was doing now, rejecting myself, rejecting the intentions of my dreams - it was simply another attempt to run away. My father had loved me with every ounce of his being. He’d loved me for exactly who I was: there was no need to change myself to run after him, he was already here. I didn’t need a pair of wings and as I thought about it, I realized I didn’t want them. All this time I’d just wanted my father back and now, at last, I’d found him. I declined the poppet. Zulime looked at me with the wisest eyes, nodded and sent me home. I felt lighter then, and powerful

In my heart I was at last beside my father, flying with the clouds.

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