BELGIAN WAFFLES / conclusion / a short story dealing with discrimination

If you missed part one CLICK HERE.

Belgian Waffles / part two

I tried to get up but fell back. Then as I looked across the floor I grew sick; there were others, victims from other encounters laying on the floor, mangled and dead.

I suddenly realized how lucky I was, I realized that this guy was a killer. I wanted to strike him right back, to speak for the fallen, but retaliation was out of the question.

Finally I was able to get to my feet and began to check out my wings. I knew that I needed my wings, without two strong wings I had no escape.

I jumped on my toes for a bit and then launched. What a relief, I was airborne. I buzzed several orbits around one of the ceiling lights, then looked to see if anyone was ready to leave so I could follow them out. But everyone was content where they where, reading their papers, chatting and ordering refills on coffee.

I landed and clung to the ceiling, below me was the couple who first let me. I dropped to their table and hoped that their initial kindness was genuine.

Sure enough, they left me alone. The girl even left scraps on her plate, some smooth maple syrup and pieces of sweet Belgian waffle.

I dined there beside, then the girl said to her boyfriend, “We need to get going.”

I flew to the door and got ready to follow them out. As I waited I was nervous, I thought that the door might close up too quickly and I would be trapped.

Thank God, it was just like before, they smiled as they opened the door, then held it open for an extra few seconds.

I was emboldened by their kindness and made a soft landing on the girl's right shoulder. I stayed there as they walked out the door and on down the street. They didn't seem to care, she was laughing and holding his hand.