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Do you think I’m just some normal kid? With a normal life maybe? Well I’m not a normal kid, nor do I have a normal life. I haven’t been or had either since I was about five. My fifth birthday marked me for the rest of my life. It made me unique and gave me a gift that just about all people want. I'm guessing you’re very much wondering what happened on my fifth birthday, yes? I'll start at the beginning of the that day for you, and believe me, your extremely lucky that I'm even thinking of telling you this story. This is the deepest secret I have. One that no one, except me, and my doctor know. My parents don’t know. My friends don’t know. Nobody knows. The only reason my doctor knows is because it was impossible to hide it from her as you will understand why soon enough. And also, I know that you’ll think this is just a “story” or a “fiction” or “unreal” or “impossible”. But no, this is my life; I'm just letting you hear about it, or well, read about it… whatever.

But back to my fifth birthday. It was a Monday, my least favorite day of the week, I was especially grumpy that day, even if it was my birthday. I always hated Mondays, it meant going back to first grade, which irritated me. The teachers never let me do anything fun.

On that day my back itched, and itched, and itched like you would never imagine. And when I scratched there where two huge bumps on either side of my neck, right below the shoulder line, and a line of bumps that follow straight down, on either side of my spinal cord, to the center of my back. I ran into the bathroom and began to do what any five-year-older would do when he had an itch, I began to scratch, wincing in pain as my nails slowly started to tear the skin, but yet, I felt a great relief. It was magnificent and it overcame some of the pain. But my back still itched, so I continued to scratch. I felt like yelling out in pain, and crying, so I grabbed one of the bathroom hand towels and put it into my mouth, then I screamed at the pain from itching my back, but I couldn’t stop. Salty tears lined my cheeks, coming out in flood levels.

“Patrick! Get out of the bathroom! We have to go to school!” my Mom said knocking on the door. I couldn’t respond, my throat was too filled with tears, and if I removed the hand towel, I would be screaming out loud. “Patrick are you all right?” I heard her ask, while she knocked more urgently. Then she burst in, and saw me crouching against the blue tiled wall of the bathroom, with a towel in my mouth, clawing at my back. “Oh my God! Patrick! What are you doing?” she yelled out in horror, seeing a small pool of blood below my legs. She ran to me and pulled me up. “I'm going to get you to a hospital! Oh my God… oh my God…” I heard her say before I passed out.

I woke up in a hospital bed, lying down on the soft fabric, a white operation gown and an IV tip inserted in my wrist. The itching in my back was gone, but now there was a new sensation. It felt like there were new limbs. I felt the strangeness of muscles that I had never used before. I tried to sit up, but fell back in pain. I felt something press against my chest, and I looked under my shirt and saw that my chest was completely wrapped, but there was no blood. I didn’t know what to think, so I didn’t. I was curious to see what was behind my back, but I could sit up to look and I couldn’t reach back to feel what happened because that hurt even more that sitting up. So I slept, I was tired anyways.

“How is he doctor?” my mom asked outside my room. A sign that said “NO VISITORS!” in deep red letters hung outside my door. “He’s doing amazingly well for a five year older who just got a tumor that large removed from his back.” The doctor lied. She knew it wasn’t a tumor; she was the only one who preformed the surgery, the only one that saw my wings. She was the only one that saw that they stretched ten feet tip to tip, she was the only one who saw that they where black as night with white feathers peaking out of the black in vein-like patters across them. She was the one who helped cut the tissue that was already breaking that was holding my wings inside my body. She was the one who washed the blood off my wings, and who now kept my secret from all those who wanted to see me. Even from my own mother, who loved me and raised me for five years, working her butt off so that I could live a good life.

I woke up in the same room, with my doctor sitting beside my bed, just looking at me with her big brown eyes. She was really quiet beautiful. I didn’t recognize that then; I still thought girls where icky back then. But she was, she had high cheekbones, tanned skin, and blue gray eyes. “What’s wrong with me?” I asked in a small, worried voice. “Nothing is wrong with you… But we did find out that you’re more of a little angel than most kids are. And that you have beautiful wings! Maybe you’re a super hero!” She said with a sweet smile. I smiled to; I liked the thought of being more a superhero. “Where’s my mommy? I want to tell her that I'm a superhero!” I exclaimed happily. The doctor’s face darkened, and her smile turned upside down. “No,” she said sternly “You can't tell this to anyone, you can't let anyone see your wings, ever, you can never let anyone see you without your shirt on, you can show your wings on Halloween, but keep your shirt on. Because when bad things can happen when people know that special people like you are around. And every superhero keeps his identity secret, so don’t tell anyone yours. Understand?” She said with a small smile. I nodded my head, scared of what she could be talking about. I wouldn’t say anything about this, ever.