The Silence of Wings

by Malkeet Kaur

It takes off from the runway, a thundering metal bird let loose into the twinkling night sky, its landing gear crunching before folding in. Inside the long, seemingly secure tube, hundreds of souls prepare to cross distant lands and oceans. Some are simply answering the call of home.

Its nose climbs higher and higher, slicing through air and wind until it becomes a speck of flickering light to the awe-struck denizens below. Inside the cockpit, the twinkling panels mesmerise the pilot. The throttle in his hand trembles.

“Good night, Kuala Lumpur,” he murmurs as the runway lights recede into the dark.

At cruising altitude, the metal bird steadies itself, the vertical stabiliser firm, wings spread wide. It coasts as if gliding on faith alone.

After the brief chatter from the tower and the expected exchange of coordinates, silence settles in. His co-pilots are subdued. He doesn’t ask why. The mission is simple: fly. Until…his mind hesitates, a pause too long. Concentrate on the lights, a voice whispers from the corner of his mind. Concentrate on the lights.

The darker-than-dark sky presses against him. His mind searches for a glimmer, a guide. He looks down and catches fleeting sparks of brightness far below, the dwellings of the living, bright souls beneath the dark sky. They cannot hear the constant hum of the metal bird above them. They don’t know what’s coming.

What is the meaning of that? his mind asks.

The souls within have no idea, that the depth of his decision will soon become theirs. When is that decision made? When they book their journey in eagerness? Or the moment the idea first flickered to travel? Men, women, children, babies, all caught in that single spark of a thought, unaware of how it will consume them.

Through the small oval windows, they gaze into darkness, mesmerised by how the metal wings slice through lengths of shifting cloud, like ribbons of obscure silk. They rejoice in the sight. The pilot, meanwhile, looks away in fear, searching again for the light. Beneath those dancing clouds, the deep vastness beckons.

His thoughts unravel. Darkness tightens its grip. Below, the density of the void pulls at his awareness, dragging it from a hundred to none. He looks frantically for light. The voice soothes him: The light will find you.

How? he asks, desperate. How will it find me?

A flicker of sanity pierces through - something’s wrong, it warns. His co-pilots are there, yet not there. The darkness feels too complete, too alive. Then the voice cuts through: It’s time.

Sanity claws at him. Time for what? it pleads.

Take it up, urges reason.

He shakes his head. Awareness blurs. The battle begins, clarity against compulsion. The voice is steady, persuasive, divine. Sanity feels brittle in its grasp.

The sound of high-pressure wind rushes against him as the metal bird begins to fall. Is this how a bird feels? The winds drown all other sound. Was that a knock? A scream? He shuts his eyes and his ears. Now he is the bird, arrowing downwards, slicing through night and cloud, plunging toward the deep, creating ripples that shatter the stillness and wake the sleeping sea.

His eyes snap open. Before him, radiant, rainbow-like lights float closer. Screams filter through the fog of his mind, the cries of dying birds, desperate for flight. So many lights. So brilliant. He isn’t surprised. There are so many souls.

How will they find us? sanity whispers.

The weight of the vastness presses against him.

They won’t, the voice answers. We will rest in the wild depths, beyond their reach.

He exhales. He is light again.

Did the others follow? he wonders. Did they yield? He hopes they did—the weight is unbearable.

The green-blue lights rise to meet him, slow and shimmering. He opens his arms. They engulf him. A final surge, the metal bird groans deeply before surrendering to the depths.

Silence. The metal bird no longer screams. One by one, the souls dissolve into the lights until nothing remains but stillness. Months pass. Years. No one comes. Curious creatures drift close, studying the strange hollow form. Some slip inside and make it their home.

The metal bird that once soared now lies in darkness, waiting, quietly, endlessly, to be found.