One Year Later...

I sat on my couch, my right wing lying on my lap. I gently stroked my wing and watched My Little Pony on TV.

"River, get up and meet me outside." Dad said, turning off the TV.

"Okay Dad." I said, hopping off the couch and walking outside, making sure my wings were folded against my back. The feeling of the dirt and rocks on the floor against my wings makes me shiver. The feeling is unpleasant. Dad decided to make it easier for my wings to move around by cutting two holes in my shirt.

I walked outside and was met with a ladder in the middle of the backyard. The backyard was small, barely fitting moms old garden. Dad went crazy after she died. She was murdered by someone who was supposed to be dead. The murderer only faked his death, but despite the police reports, Dad claimed it was a zombie.

Dad waked out with a tape measurer and a bottle of water. Setting the objects down, he walked over to me and glared daggers at me.

"Well what are you waiting for? Get on the damn latter!" Dad ordered. I jumped at the sound of his voice and started climbing the latter.

"What now?" I asked him, teetering on the top of the ladder.

"You jump. Try and fly." He said. I thought for a second.

"Go!" He commanded. Jolting awake, and almost falling, I blinked slowly and jumped off the ladder. I opened my wings and pushed them up and down. Falling down slightly, my wings suddenly got tired and I dropped, two feet from the ground. Startled, I fell flat on my face. Groaning, I pushed myself up and sat on the dewy grass.

  "Hmm... Let's try a different approach. Stand up and flap your wings." He said. Doing as he said, I stood up and awkwardly flapped my wings. He looked at me before saying, "No no no. Not like that. Let me fix your wings and I can help you." He said. Nodding my head, Dad walked over to me and straightened out my wings, hearing a loud pop. Wincing, I started to flap again. With one strong flap, I got three feet high.

  Smiling, and landing back on the ground, I started flapping even faster and got about 8 feet high. I stayed like that, flapping my wings but managing to stay low. My dad smiled slightly, then said,

  "Alright, now try to go forward." He said. I hesitated, and nodded slowly. Twisting my body forward and moving my wings so they are straight, I started flapping. Getting about five feet forward, my wings cramped up and I fell. Screaming, I landed in moms garden.

  Dad looked furious. I smashed a few flowers, and my wings hurt a bit, but other  than that I was fine.

Dad stormed over to me, fights clenched. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me out of the garden. My wings were scraping across the ground while my hands flew up to my neck. The collar of my shirt was choking me, and I started to get light headed.

Dad threw me into the ground, the grass tearing up a bit, getting mud on my wings and body. Groaning, I started standing up before Dad pushed me back down.

"Never. Ever, touch that garden again." He sneered. I curled up into a ball and nodded. Dad sneered again.

"What was that?!" He yelled. I started crying as I said,

"Okay Dad." I stuttered. He grinned widely and nodded his head.

"Good. Now get back up and try again." He said. The sun was starting to set, and my wings still hurt.

"Okay Dad." I said and got back up, starting the process over again. Each time, I went slightly farther, and slightly faster. With each flap of my wings, I could feel my wings becoming stronger.

  This continued every day for two years.