Yesterday evening I was thinking about this one book I read a long time ago and was absolutely fascinated with. It was a fairly thin book and simply titles as "Wings". It was about a boy who grows a pair of wings. His family, classmates and the general public reject him now for the most part because he's suddenly a "freak" Well, he goes off to live in the mountains with one his classmates and her mother. A clasmate whom he had formally made fun of due to the fact that she has six fingers. Some time passes and while up in the mountains he begins to like his new found appendages. And then one day his parents send for him to come home and saying that he must have the wings removed. He does this and is at the end a "normal" boy again.
It was such an interesting book. I felt sad for the boy at the end to. If I recall right, I was a bit sad about it for a couple days after. I reread the book several times and each time thought about the story. I thought how wonderful a feeling it must be to be able to fly.
I'm not sure what made me think of this book yesterday. Just a random thought that went through my head.