The pair of wooden wings laid still, lifeless. It was attached to its wooden aircraft, but now it lost its original purpose to existence, dislocated and left on the table. I did not touch those wings again after the tragic occurred, i was too ashamed to bring myself to reconcile and give life to that pair of wooden wings again. Every time i thought of proving myself wrong, to revive the dead pair of wooden craft, i got hesitant, and only focused on the consequences, and to be more exact the pain.
I used to rush home from school every afternoon, locked myself in my room, and strive to finish my creation, my fantasy.
Then it was done, and my hands felt magical, when they held the body of the wooden craft, pretending that it was a real airplane that could fly me to wherever i desired. A plane of my own to fulfill every dream i ever had, with this plane i could do anything, dream of great dreams and know that it would come to pass.
The sense of achievement kept its hold on me for as long as the aircraft held on to its purpose of existence. That was my dream.
That day little brother came into my room and soft as a mouse laid hold of the plane and crept out. I knew and saw what happened, because i was asleeped, but my sharp ears never failed me, and then i pretended to be asleep.
I simply dismissed the thought that anything fatal would happen to the wooden aircraft, to my dream, and decided to share my dream with my little brother.
Yet it came all to quickly, my hopes turned into ashes, as i heard a loud thud, and slowly a faint weeping sound reached my ears. Was little brother hurt? Did he injured himself with that sharp propeller? How i wished that i would have stopped him, but i wanted to share my joy and dream with him, because i loved him. But allowing him to be hurt, and knowing that he might get hurt was surely not what you called love, is it not now called hatred? No i don't hate my little brother, he was so adorable!
I struggled to get out of the blanket that provided warmth, but now kept me captive. I broke free and ran like a captive that received divine grace and freedom.
Little brother sat on the grass, and what was left of the wooden craft was that pair of broken wings. Wooden, stiff, dried and died. The soft whimpering of my little brother's voice and the pain that arose in my throat thrown me into a state of mixed emotions. I felt a whirl inside my stomach, and it was disgusting, i felt like puking!
His hand lifted from its state of rest and pointed down the hill, then he looked up at me, eyes that are filled with tear like crystals, and mouthed out the words, it flew off.
My dream flew off, the remnants and brokenness of the whole incident was simply represented by a pair of broken wooden wings. My creation left, simply by the propelling force of a hand, a smile on the face to see the dream depart, and that smile was not even mine but my little brothers', it then left. My fantasy fell back into reality, so much time was spent to create that fantasy, yet in a matter of minutes in an afternoon like any other afternoons, it decided to loosen its facade and revealed the ugly truth.
But i know i still love my brother, because we both shared the same dream.
I created that dream, and he was the one who saw the dream took flight.
Little brother was nice enough to keep hold a piece of that dream for us to remember we both once shared the same dream and fantasy together.
We both shared the same dream on that beautiful day.