I am sleek and shiny, but also strong and swift. I am a dancer, floating through the air, but I am also a fighter, throwing blows meant to kill. I can fly, slicing the air until I find an opening, or I can crawl, waiting, until I finish it all with one blow.
But I am trapped, stowed away in a jail perfectly tailored for me. I am seldom let out, and while I wait, I gather my strength, so when I am finally granted exit, I can make the most of myself. When I am returned to capture, I don’t understand, for my power is far from spent, my wits far from failing, and my wounds far from bleeding. Yet I allow myself to be taken, for every time, I feel the final slash, see the red hitting the ground, and hear the last rush of air, and I know it is time to enter that familiar darkness. I have come to accept my fate, but once, just once, I felt something different.
The jolt of flight being stopped by force, the grating pain of clawing at my own flesh, and the presence of a new feeling: fear.
Despite my trauma, I found another emotion to counter it.
Elation filled me.
At last, I was feeling a rush that was pushing my abilities to the limit. I flew forever, yet forever was not long enough, and then it was gone. I am sleek and shiny, but darkness is dulling my strength.