Nova
She wasn't fragile like a flower.
She stands on the cliff, watching the strange birds dip close to the waves before leveling out and curving back up towards the ledges where others sat watching. It's hard to tell what they're doing, but it looks fun. They don't seem bothered by the smoke that has drifted up from the Climb, or the ash that falls like tainted snow from the sky. They appear more interested in whatever game they're playing.
Leaning precariously close to the edge of the sea cliff, Nova watches as another bird does the same, leaning so far forward that gravity pulls it from its place on the ledge. A few birds chirp and squawk at its descent, and her own gasp of excitement joins the rising noise, being drowned out by the crash of waves below - the same place the bird dives headfirst towards. It doesn't spread its wings, doesn't seem worried of the dangerous waters sprinting to greet them, time suspending a moment of adrenaline. Nova's hands raise to her chest, fists tight until it looks like hope is lost, like the bird might have forgotten the most important part of survival.
But at the last possible second - when the salt breeze nearly kisses its beak - the avian snaps open its wings, leveling out for a moment before looking up, the wind snatching it to life it back towards the ledge it had fallen from, and the birds that awaited their turn.
Leaning precariously close to the edge of the sea cliff, Nova watches as another bird does the same, leaning so far forward that gravity pulls it from its place on the ledge. A few birds chirp and squawk at its descent, and her own gasp of excitement joins the rising noise, being drowned out by the crash of waves below - the same place the bird dives headfirst towards. It doesn't spread its wings, doesn't seem worried of the dangerous waters sprinting to greet them, time suspending a moment of adrenaline. Nova's hands raise to her chest, fists tight until it looks like hope is lost, like the bird might have forgotten the most important part of survival.
But at the last possible second - when the salt breeze nearly kisses its beak - the avian snaps open its wings, leveling out for a moment before looking up, the wind snatching it to life it back towards the ledge it had fallen from, and the birds that awaited their turn.
She was fragile like a bomb.
