Airborne

Meet Luffy.

Somewhere above the cloudline, where the sky turns from blue to pink to colors that don’t have names yet, there’s a pig with translucent wings riding the jet stream like it’s a lazy river.

Luffy discovered flight the way most creatures discover breathing - it just made sense. One day he was earthbound, the next he wasn’t. No drama, no transformation montage. He simply noticed that the sky had more room, better acoustics, and significantly fewer fences. So he stayed.

His wings shimmer like soap bubbles stretched thin, catching light and bending it into something almost musical. His ears are speakers - pink spiraling cones that pull in every frequency drifting through the upper atmosphere. Bird songs. Jet engine harmonics. The secret hum the clouds make when they’re deciding whether to rain. Luffy hears it all, mixes it together, and beams it back out as pure uncut joy.

He builds nests out of stray radio waves. Drinks morning dew off the tops of thunderheads. Races satellites for fun and lets them win because he’s not in a hurry. Time moves different up there. Slower. Softer. A minute can last an hour if the view is good enough.

Sometimes he descends low enough to catch glimpses of the ground - all those creatures bound by gravity, walking their straight lines, following their careful rules. He doesn’t judge. He just doesn’t understand. Why would anyone stay down when up exists?

The old saying goes “when pigs fly” - a shorthand for the impossible, the never-gonna-happen, the don’t-even-bother-dreaming.

Luffy floats past, ears spinning, wings catching thermals, completely unaware that he’s not supposed to exist.

He is a flying one.