starships were meant to fly ;

Hah, guess what. I can fly. And you know, not in an airplane. So suck it. I have those genuine, grade A real-as-shit wings. Feather light, black as the ravens that they're from. And guess what? I love them. I hate how I got them, but that doesn't mean I have to hate what they are. That's just not my style, dude.

Right now, I was standing on one of the highest cliffs in the Nigra Ales territory. The view was amazing. The waves crashing against the rocks so far below me, creating tiny little white caps. The horizon, the setting sun so far away. It made me feel so small, but I loved it because I could just keep looking out forever and ever.

I stretched out my arms, my ragged navy blue shirt shifting. I rolled my shoulders to adjust it to a more comfortable position. I wore this shirt so much that it was practically a second skin. I stepped forward, toes off the edge of the cliff, and stared down, letting my arms drop to my sides. That view, that view. That amazing, perfect, beautiful view.

Turning, I stepped back and rocked forward so that just my toes were on the edge of the cliff, my back to the churning waters below me. I faced the rocky mass of the cliff spread out in front of me, and with the slightest movement I was falling. Flying through the air, wings and arms stretched out, head to the sky and back to the ground. Face to heaven and ass to hell.

At the last minute I went into a roll, pulling up, a scream unleashing from my throat. Yup, I'm a daredevil. But what else can you do for fun around here? It's not all total hell.