The wind stretched my skin tight across my face as I… as I what? ‘Rushed through the stratosphere?’ Nah… too elegant… ‘teetered at high velocity and altitude’ sounded more like it.
“’Cause she couldn’t give me a stick when she gave me wings, could she?” A bug hit the back of my throat, and I coughed. That’ll teach me to talk to myself at a time like this.
How the hell was I going to land?
“You can talk to me once you get your misdirected anger under control,” she had said before I started flying. Was that a clue?
This story was written based on this prompt.