"Tweet! Come down little birdie, lets see those wings." A large group of teenaged boys crowed at me and I glared. Pimply faced, oily skinned jack asses who came every week trying to make me come down. They would get caught one day, just like I did. Shaking out my white dress I narrowed my eyes.<br/>"Allright. I'll come down." Flexing my long, coal black wings I smirked and pushed off my swing at the top of my cage. They boy's staggered and I caught some air, spinning in a cork screw pattern. Their eyes bugged and I came to a halt, floating delicately to the ground. My back muscles screamed in protest like they always did and tears spring to my eyes. Shoulder muscles aren't supposed to attach to wings.<br/><br/>I strut forward, flicking my hair.<br/>"Little Birdie is here now." I said sweetly. They all grinned and I cackled, kicking furiously. I felt bone crack and I snarled. Getting some height I slammed my fist into one of their faces and they ran screaming. We can hurt them as much as we want and yet they always come back....