- My wings were all I ever wanted, all I ever needed. Although I couldn't fly, well the matter of the fact was no one could, ever. Anyway, If I was to ever recive my wings back, I would break down crying. I was 13 when I lost my wings, now I am known as a cut-wing. A cut wing is someone who was bruttely forced by someone onto the floor or in a chair, and even just held up, and with a few snips of the sicsorss, gone, on the floor, and blood slowly dripping form your back. Your wings were no longer apart of your body. I am not the only cut wing alive. There are many cut-wings out there. My best friend Andy, is also a cut-wing. But in the end I guess, we really ended up missing our wings. We were so free with our wings, and so very careful with them too. But when my evil grandmother, who looks about 1,000 years old, saw me with wings, she was so stunned, and she ran down stairs to tell my mother. My mother came upstairs, and saw us, and told my grandmother that she already knew. She left. Andy was sleeping over that night, and when my grandmother thought everyone was asleep, she came into our room, with siccores, and rope than tied us together, and cut off our wings. We were so devistated. And felt alone without our wings. The thought without them before they were gone was to ugly to imagine. But when it really happedend, it was to brutel to live. I learned to forget about my wings, and move on. Andy didn't I was waitng for my birthday party to begin, when my mother came in and sent everyone home. She sat me down and told me that Andy had killed her self that morning. she left a note saying, my life sucks, and I can't live without my wings. I will miss you all so very much. I cried for an hour or two, but I eventually, walked up and called my grandmother. It rang four times before she answered. When she did I said don't speak, listen. I said write out and clear, that she was a bitter old women, who had no life, and deserved to die. And that I hoped she died alone,and misserable, with the guilt of knowing she hurt two innocent girls, and killed one of them as well. When I was finisehed, she said she was sorry, I inturupted her, and called her a B**** and than hung up. I never spoke to her again. But like I said at the beggining, if I could get my wings back, I would start crying, not saddly, but with joy, And I just might talk to my grandmother again, just to tell her that she was ugly and that I was... I repeat, I WAS GOING TO KILL HER!
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