Lacking the wings of a bird and the money to fly on steel, the silver tether was my only choice. At first, I ventured into that soft world of mellow light only on occasion, and remained ever-thoughtful of the distance between myself and my body. I would look over my shoulder as I drifted away, watching as the ethereal cord linking me to it uncoiled from my breast. How strange it was to see, as if the thread of my soul were being pulled from a spool.
In time, I tested the distance it would allow me. I investigated my own home at first. Soon, I ventured outside, where I would glide above the lush grass and delight in the sensation. I then floated into town, where I admired the familiar streets from the exhilarating viewpoint of birds.
Once I was comfortable, I flew every night. It had always been my greatest dream.
Years passed. I drifted waywardly in the winds one evening, miles away from the house containing my flesh, and felt a sudden cold. It was an immersive cold, like one feels when dropped into frigid water. Urgently, I flew.
When I approached my house, I saw a strange man outside. He moved quickly from my porch and into the bushes. I flew through the window and into my bedroom, where I found the end of my tether drifting freely in the center of the room.
Blood saturated the bed sheets where I lay. There was so much. So, so much.
No matter how I tried, I couldn’t return. My tether was cut. My body grew cold. I was alone. I am alone.