Fallen

Weeks passed. I grew more and more listless as the essence of this world sucked the life out of me slowly. My absent wings shrieked with pain every now and then, even though they weren’t there. I had heard of this “phantom pain” that amputees sometimes got, but I never thought I’d ever get it. It all just seemed like one cruel joke on the part of my body.
The gardeners eventually gave up watering the grass in my paddock, as it didn’t even make a difference. I still pondered Wither’s offer to myself to pass the time, but, other than that, I was too listless to move.
Researchers from the Foundation arrived every now and then, to take blood samples, bring me my food and water, and poke and prod at me. One time, after many futile attempts to make me rise, they resorted to using a painful shock to lift me to my feet. I remember the pain, and thinking that I’d never have thought I would have sunk so low. Alone, flightless, and playing monkey games with a bunch of, well, bald monkeys.
Eventually, beaten down and fatigued, I saw Dr. Placard striding towards my paddock, the first time in what seems like an eternity that I’ve seen him.
“Everything’s ready. The others are readying the plane, but we’ll have to load you into a crate. I’m sorry about the indignity, but we don’t have much of a choice.”
I saw a group of other humans drive a small motored vehicle up to my paddock, with a crate on a trailer behind it. It took almost all of them to get me up to my feet and into the crate, I was so fatigued. But I eventually managed to get inside.
After the humans lifted the crate inside the giant metal behemoth they called a jet, Dr. Placard opened the door to the crate and I shuffled out weakly. Soon I felt it lurch into motion, and we were off.
I was soaring above the clouds, riding the wind again. It was what I had wanted before, but the feeling I longed for was missing entirely. This was not flying. This was hurtling forward inside a giant metal shell, faster than humanely right. I felt no wind in my mane, like proper. I had no thrill of exhilaration as I rose into the sky, just a feeling of heaviness as we ascended.
I sighed. This was one of the machines that took my freedom away, and now I was supposed to be gaining it back by riding inside one.
Dr. Placard, standing beside me, put his hand on my shoulder momentarily, then walked through the door at the front of the cargo area we waited inside, entering what he called the “cockpit”, where the controls for the vehicle were located.
I closed my eyes, and waited. With a sudden jerk, the floor heaved beneath me. The ground tilted as the nose of the plane tipped up. We were headed into a sharp ascent, sharper by far than anything I had ever achieved. Then again, I was flying in a mechanical behemoth, not by my own physical strength. This lasted a second, then…
Suddenly my kneeling body left the floor, and I was free. Weightless. Granted, I still couldn’t feel the wind in my mane, but nonetheless, I was free from the control of gravity. Ecstatic, I turned a couple of flips in midair, then exhaled at the floor, rocketing toward the ceiling. I still missed the feeling of power I got from lifting off with my wings, but…
I don’t know. It was something. And it was a hay of a lot better than being stuck on the ground. My phantom wings twanged with the memory of soaring through the sky again. I could almost imagine, in my current floating weightlessness, that I was once again streaking over land and sea, proud and free.
My eyes leaked tears as I experienced my last moment of freedom I would ever feel. I looked up and saw Dr. Placard floating beside him, the joy in his face a mirror of mine. He stroked my muzzle with one hand, then the plane wrenched itself into a normal flight. Security must have regained control of the flight. I didn’t care. I got to enjoy freedom for one last time.