This is why the emu does not have wings and why she therefore cannot fly.

As a child, emu was possessed of a beautiful set of wings, long and full of feathers as colorful as the flowering vines. Emu did not run fast, but she was a powerful flier and could outrace any other bird, whether he be on the ground or in the air.

But as emu grew, she became reliant on her wings.

"Don't you know, emu, that legs are far better for moving?" claimed brush turkey, who was secretly jealous of emu's flight. "Wings are for those who are weak. Legs are for those who are strong."

Emu did not believe this at first and continued to fly, but at length, brush turkey's words convinced her, and she clipped her own wings so that she might make use of her legs.

"You see now, brush turkey? I am like you. I can run fast, and I do not need my wings."

"Foolish emu," cried brush turkey. "Now you really are weak! For you can neither run fast nor fly!"

Angry to have been fooled, emu at first wallowed in self-pity, but eventually, she began to run, and the more she ran, the more powerful her legs became, so that even though she could not fly, she could run faster than all the birds, including the brush turkey.

Dawn Carroll had just come through a crisis. She had relied mainly on her sister, as usual, to get her through it with a night of movies; they always had a movie night when Dawn had a crisis. This particular all-movie-night had been their second that month. It wasn't that Dawn was a drama queen; in fact, she considered herself quite rational and sane. She knew her sister Eve would probably have something different to say about that. Eve, being older, had always had her life and her emotions under control. Eve had always been the perfect daughter, Dawn knew, and she, the younger, had always been a bit of a disappointment. She knew her parents felt that way about her—as if she wasn't quite good enough. That was why, when she'd moved out to be on her own about six months ago, they'd tried to stop her; they hadn't wanted her to be free because they didn't think she deserved it. Eve had kept quiet about the whole thing, not taking sides, but Dawn, deep, deep down, knew that her older sister took her parents' side.

The most recent crisis had involved a stalker. Yes, Dawn had been absolutely sure she was being stalked. And it wasn't the stalker that had caused the crisis; no, Dawn had been aware of the supposed stalker for weeks. What had caused the upset was the fact that she realized, quite suddenly yet definitely, that the supposed stalker—a co-worker in the law firm at which she'd been recently employed—was most certainly not stalking her at all. In fact, he was happily married and the father of two lovely little offspring. Dawn had merely fabricated the whole thing out of sheer love of the idea, and when she'd realized that all the passionate, obsessive love she'd believed her co-worker had felt for her was a figment of her imagination . . . well, she'd been quite devastated. She'd called her sister and cried and Eve had come directly over, no doubt more to eat ice cream and watch good movies than because she'd sympathized. Dawn had a bad habit of inventing fabulous characters from the people she saw and involving them in detailed plots that ran rampant in her mind. Her thoughts were animated with colored versions of the black-and-white world she saw around her, and often, she hardly knew what was real and what was not. Her mind's wanderings were more lovely and, therefore, more enticing than the mundane routine through which she was forced to live daily.

Dawn knew reality enough to function in it; she just hated the fact that she had to do so. Her sister, Eve, had fit right into everything. Eve had fun jobs she loved, a handsome boyfriend, and an adorable little apartment in the most eclectic little neighborhood. She, on the other hand, was working a job she hated and living in an almost empty apartment after her two roommates had abandoned her. She'd been to college and gotten a decent degree, but she could hardly make ends meet. Dawn had always thought herself prettier than her sister with her chocolatey-brown hair and eyes that sparkled with light (even if she did have more weight on her), but for some reason, Eve had always had more dates than she had had. Dawn didn't begrudge her sister such things (well, that was what she told herself, anyway); she just didn't understand why she should get such a different lot than Eve. She loved her sister very much, but she resented that little had been given her while Eve seemed to have gotten off so easy. Life was unfair, and Dawn knew she'd been given a most unjust lot; recently, it seemed she'd had more than her fair share of let-downs. The false-stalker was just the most recent. She'd thought, until last night, that she'd never get over it.

But last night, something new had come into her life. She'd been out, and she'd seen an angel. Oh, she knew it was certainly an angel she'd laid eyes upon—there was no other explanation for the otherworldly presence surrounding the man; yes, Dawn was sure that she'd seen an angel, albeit a fallen one, last night. He'd been so beautiful, and so pained . . . but she knew she could fix that. She could help him. He needed help—Dawn was positive of that. He'd looked as if the world was crushing him. As if all the noise and the stimulation and the very air itself were forcing themselves down upon his shoulders. He'd needed someone to wrap her arms around him, press him close to her heart and block out all the sound and suffering; she would have gladly been the one to do it. The man was so beautiful . . . so perfect. His sharp features and his unkempt hair and face. His tall, lean figure. She'd wanted to talk to him—no, not to talk to him, but just to reach out her hands to him, because she was certain he'd have understood! If she'd reached out to him, he would have known that she was his lifeline, and he would have realized how much he'd needed her . . .

But Al had torn her from her fantasy and back into the real world with his drunkenness. Al, too short, with his scruffy goatee and the moustache he'd been trying to grow for ages. He resembled a stocky adolescent who didn't know what to do with a razor blade more than a man proclaiming his right to wear facial hair. Dawn had only accompanied Al because he'd begged her to. They'd been friends for a few years—he was pretty much the only friend she had. Dawn usually liked being with him—except when he was drunk. He'd returned from ordering some sort of drink at the bar, and Dawn couldn't even tell what it was. She'd snatched it from him (much to his annoyance) and taken a sip, only to realize it contained almost all vodka with a splash of something citrus-minty. It was too strong for her liking; she'd gladly given it back to Al, who had happily taken it and begun gulping the stuff. By the time Dawn had looked back to the bar, the angel had busied himself with more orders; no more standing in the light reflecting from the mirror behind the bar, where she'd admired him; he was moving and wrapped up in his work. She would have continued staring at him in the hope that he'd take notice of her, but Al had been rather high-maintenance. The drink he'd been made had exacerbated his drunkenness and caused him to be more obnoxious than ever as he consumed it.

"Dawn, you're the love of my life!" he'd insisted over and over again, much to her chagrin. It was Al's typical drunken routine: he'd compliment her to no end and insist she was his everything, and then he'd get angry and resent her. By the time she'd drive him home, he'd be passed out, and she'd have to help him up the stairs to his apartment. He'd grumble the whole way, but when she managed to get him into bed, he'd turn into a little child and express his love once again, only this time in a more irritating, needy fashion. Dawn would end up leaving him, turning out his light and exiting the shabby apartment with half-hearted apologies, leaving her friend to fend for himself the following morning, when he'd no doubt awaken with a punishing hangover.

It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Al—it was just that she'd become so used to his late-night escapades that she was quite tired of them.

Now that morning had come—a morning dawning after a night tinted so beautifully by the appearance of an angel—Dawn was certain that her life was going to begin to glitter again. She was just positive of it. As she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan that didn't work, her first thoughts were of the man behind the bar. Her second thoughts, however, turned to Al, and she suddenly felt guilty. Her phone was close by, so she turned to grab it and give her friend a call. There was no answer after several rings, though, and she declined leaving a message. No doubt Al was suffering for last night's liquored love this gray-blue bright morning.

Well, she wasn't going to sit around feeling sorry for him. No. She was going to go out into the world today. After several days of moping around in her huge empty apartment, ignoring her phone and eating too much ice cream, she was ready for a breather. And also, in the back of her head, was the buzzing realization that she needed to find a new job—and quick. She hadn't gone back to her office since discovering her co-worker wasn't passionately obsessed with her; she just couldn't! There was no way she'd be able to look at him without bursting into tears or giving something away. She hadn't even called her boss; she'd just stopped going in. At this point, she knew that if she did try to show up, she'd be fired anyhow, so she was just going to look for something new. There were some things, Dawn felt, that were more important than a bi-monthly paycheck—her pride was one of them.

Yes, she'd wander downtown today. She wanted to be alone, mostly. Whenever she discovered some new intrigue, she kept it inside, nurturing it in a nest of feathers and ribbons and shiny things. A day of walking and cherishing her thoughts was all she needed to get back on top of the pillar from which she'd recently fallen. If there was one thing Dawn knew, it was how to find hope again.

And maybe, when she was downtown, she'd pick up something for Al. Something to thank him for forcing her to go out last night, because really—if it hadn't been for him, she never would have found the angel: her new purpose in life.