I closed my eyes and tried one more time. This was the 487th time I had tried that day (yes, I’d been keeping count). I didn’t do anything different that time from the 486 tries before but this time, it magically worked. I suddenly couldn’t feel the cold stones below my feet, the feeling had been replaced by a cool breeze that tickled the soles of my feet.

I almost didn’t dare open my eyes but I finally did. I was about to look at the world from a different perspective, everything would look different. It would almost be a new world.

Unfortunately, it was nothing special. It was no different from standing on top of a park bench and looking down at the rest of the world. I was so disappointed. What was the point of flying if it would be so boring? I can’t see what the fuss is all about.

I didn’t ever want to fly again after that experience. To cut a long story short, or a short story even shorter, I never tried to fly again.