Flight
Jamal wearily folded his wing and the softest blend of black, grey and white feathers quivered, a close representation of his thoughts.
Maybe because basketball turned from his hobby to a chore, a means of survival that he began to hate the sport and was so eager to stop playing. Jamal had forgotten the reason that he liked it so much in the beginning.
His body was drained, his face sticky with sweat as he took in deep breaths.
The slightly rounded white tips of his wings brushed against the ground, fluttering g slightly and Jamal smiled. He loved the ache that came with a good wok. The joy of pushing past all your known body limits.
He had been flying for over three hours. Since he assimilated the memory of the original body having wings, Jamal could not wait to try it out.