Surviving as a bird with a broken wing that keeps trying to fly. Only way to survive is to numb yourself. Never a moment to recover. The wound only worsening. Fighting to fly even when it can only achieve thrashing on the ground. To give up is to become easy prey. You will thrash until you die. The only thing that can save you is a kind hand, something that you will fight against since that is all you know now. At the last moment you are scooped up. A kindness not expected or deserved but warms your numbness. Healing goes from an unfamiliar sensation to a home. Splintered bones become whole again. Stronger than before, you cannot recognise who you were. Nearly a mythical bird, a rare breed that pretended, the ugly ducking that found out who it was. A chance encounter at the right time, in the right place, for the right reasons, bloomed from a facade that might as well been invisible. The remainder of the story continues instead of ending with a full stop.
