How does a seagull learn to fly? The obvious answer is with its wings, flapping them again and again until its feet leave the ground.
Surely, if it's that easy, anyone can do it.
So Slinx imagined himself growing wings; he felt the feathers emerging from his back and new joints extending from his spine. Wings, just like an angel.
But before he could fly, Slinx faced a series of logistical hurdles: His new grown wings were far too heavy to flap, too small to generate the strong gust to thrust him upwards, too alien to him for any proper control.
The scene this morning flashed across his mind. Slinx had seen a baby seagull fly. It lifted its frail body into the air for the first time, an unfamiliar motion that would become second nature. From Slinx's perspective, it looked easy. Now, he was not so certain.
That must be how seagulls feel when they first learn to fly: Carefully placing itself near the cliff, just close enough to look down at the harrowing shore it might plummet towards, but also gaze at the boundless skies soon to be its domain.
Slinx wondered what was on the seagull's mind when it first leapt from land to air. Was it ambition? Or was it desperation?
How does one know when they're ready?
How does one break through the ordinary?
How does Slinx Wilt live his fantasy?
Ding!
Slinx opened his eyes. He scouted his surroundings and remembered where he was and who he was supposed to be.
'Oh! Is it Half past three already? Alright, we'll finish the rest tomorrow. Stand up, class!' Mr Chan said.
He was no legendary hero, nor was he a daring magician.
'Goodbye and thank you, Mr Chan!' The class bowed and announced sluggishly.
He was Slinx Wilt, a nobody.
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'It's another day.'
Slinx sighed. The four years he had once been excited for had turned into meaningless stagnation as the veil of time slowly revealed day by day. Slinx dragged himself out of his seat. His sore butt groaned as he wondered if he would ever move again. His mind was a blank slate, not an ounce of knowledge retained. Slinx had just turned sixteen, but with the life he was living, he might as well have been sixty. Mundanity had killed the boy, leaving the dying flesh to wait for the day he turned into ash.
Slinx glanced around the lousy classroom to see the usual things happening: Flint was the first one to rush out of the door. Slinx wasn't the only one who found that annoying, and it didn't help that Flint was top of the class and the teacher's pet.
Jason was on his way to his daily after-school routine. He had been Slinx's role model and Mr Perfect for all these years, his herculean stature a head above the rest. Dark, wavy fringes curtaining those blue eyes that glitter stars on a clear summer night; Jason was every girl's first crush. Slinx halted his thoughts of admiration; it was starting to feel like he, too, had a crush on Jason. It had been Slinx's goal to be like Jason until he realised he never stood a chance. Gasping for air after a lap around the track, Slinx was the definition of pathetic.
'So yeah, four years in this dump and I haven't done anything! What a…'
His stream of thought was interrupted by Charlie's pat on the back.
'Hey, sorry, man! My mom's making me join tutorial classes after school. I can't walk with you home, man!' Charlie always had that beaming smile on his face, even when he was going to tutorial classes.
'That's OK! I'm kinda used to it by now.' Slinx tried to return the friendly smile, but Charlie's smile was twice as big as his. Nothing feels worse than pretending to be fine when you actually cannot feel any worse. He sighed in despair, headed out of the classroom and blended into the crowd. Under all the cheerful banter and friendly chuckles filling the hallway lay a lonely soul, murmuring a cry for help.