May Short Stories: Saturday Edition

                At the age of ten, Emma asked her father to turn her into a bird.

                “I can’t, starling,” he said sadly, crumpling the curls at her neck. “I’m not that kind of magician.”

                “But you’re a magician,” she said. “You can fly.”

                “Yes, I can fly. But you, my darling, won’t ever be a bird.” He squeezed her cheek. “I couldn’t allow that.”

                But Emma couldn’t give up on the idea. In the evening, she hung in the window, staring out at the great expanse of soft blue. It pulled her soul into a glorious ache, a sting tracing shivers down her arms. Her father found her and carried her to bed, his face tucked into a frown.

                “No more flying,” he said softly as he tucked her in.

                “No more?” Emma asked yearningly.

                “No, starling. No more, ever. You must stay my little girl. You can’t turn into a bird.”

                He kissed her forehead and left the room, his wand twirling lazily in his hand. Emma turned her face to the window, where the horizon glowed turquoise.

                She promised her father she wouldn’t try to fly again. But she dreamed of starlings.