When she was little she had found a picture of a peacock in the pages of a National Geographic.

The magazine itself was worn, but somehow this picture still stood out in full, vibrant color. Her child’s innocent eyes widened with surprise. Wow, she had though.

Wow. One day I’m going to be a peacock. I’ll wish very hard and turn into one, one day. That’s what I will be when I grow up. My fairy godmother will make me into a peacock.

Even when she grew old enough to realize that fairy godmothers did not exsist, she still wanted to be that bird. That bird that, despite worn and torn pages, was bright and beautiful and…and awe inspiring to a young child.

Somewhere over the years she had lost the magazine, and the peacock with it. But it was burned in her brain so she didn’t need it.

To bad that she could not be a peacock, she had thought.

And then, one day, when life became too much, she realized that she could.

So she left, flying away in a swarm of blue and green feathers.