Chap­ter 1 of If These Wings Could Fly sets a pow­er­ful tone as the pro­tag­o­nist reflects on the tense and emo­tion­al­ly charged envi­ron­ment at home. The open­ing scene describes the sti­fling heat of a humid night, with the protagonist’s win­dow wide open, allow­ing the oppres­sive air to fill the room. Heavy clouds loom over­head, sym­bol­iz­ing a long-await­ed storm, which rep­re­sents not only the much-need­ed rain for the drought-strick­en town but also the hope for change and for­give­ness in the protagonist’s life. The protagonist’s mind is con­sumed by the chaot­ic state of her house­hold, where the dom­i­nant pres­ence of her father instills a sense of fear and anx­i­ety. His volatile nature has cast a long shad­ow over the fam­i­ly, cre­at­ing an atmos­phere where peace and secu­ri­ty are rare. The protagonist’s thoughts shift to the grow­ing weight of her respon­si­bil­i­ties, as this year marks the final stretch of high school before she must focus on secur­ing her future, all while tak­ing on the role of pro­tec­tor for her two younger sis­ters.

The protagonist’s inter­nal con­flict is made even more pal­pa­ble as she sits with her two younger sis­ters, the sound of clas­sic rock music blast­ing through the house, adding to the over­whelm­ing chaos. With each pass­ing beat, the vol­ume seems to increase, mir­ror­ing the ris­ing ten­sion and dis­or­der with­in the house­hold. But the sit­u­a­tion takes a dra­mat­ic turn when a loud crash is heard down­stairs, caus­ing the protagonist’s heart to race with fear. In that moment, her pro­tec­tive instincts kick in, and she is filled with an over­whelm­ing sense of dread about what might have hap­pened to their moth­er. Her father’s behav­ior, often unpre­dictable and root­ed in his finan­cial strug­gles, is the cat­a­lyst for these vio­lent out­bursts. The pres­sure of an unpaid mort­gage and mount­ing ener­gy bills only serve to fuel his rage, and the pro­tag­o­nist feels a deep, bone-chill­ing fear as she sens­es the poten­tial dan­ger that looms for her moth­er. The atmos­phere becomes thick with ter­ror, and the protagonist’s help­less­ness becomes all the more intense as she faces the real­i­ty of her pow­er­less posi­tion.

The nar­ra­tive shifts to the chill­ing con­fronta­tion between the father and moth­er, as the father phys­i­cal­ly shoves the moth­er against fur­ni­ture in a fit of rage. The scene is har­row­ing, with the pro­tag­o­nist try­ing des­per­ate­ly to reas­sure her sis­ters that every­thing is fine, even though she is ter­ri­fied. She feels her own fear and help­less­ness wash over her, know­ing that her moth­er could be harmed, yet unsure of how to inter­vene with­out mak­ing the sit­u­a­tion worse. As the vio­lent ten­sion con­tin­ues, the pro­tag­o­nist real­izes that she can­not remain pas­sive any longer. Her attempt to keep the sit­u­a­tion from esca­lat­ing leads her to the deci­sion to escape with her sis­ters, aware that the tele­phone line has been sev­ered, pre­vent­ing her from call­ing for help. In a des­per­ate bid to pro­tect her sis­ters, she climbs out the win­dow and onto the roof, try­ing to frame the sit­u­a­tion as an adven­ture to keep them calm. But despite her brave front, the protagonist’s own fear is pal­pa­ble, par­tic­u­lar­ly as they cross the yard, which is eeri­ly filled with crows. The omi­nous pres­ence of the birds adds an extra lay­er of unease to an already tense moment, height­en­ing the sense of fore­bod­ing as they move through the night.

Her jour­ney to a neighbor’s house is filled with mount­ing anx­i­ety and fear of the unknown. The hope for assis­tance is dashed when she finds that no one is home, leav­ing her feel­ing iso­lat­ed and more vul­ner­a­ble than ever. With no oth­er options, she reluc­tant­ly returns to the house, where she is met by her father, whose anger still sim­mers just beneath the sur­face. In a pan­ic, she lies, telling him that she has called the police, under­stand­ing the risks of telling the truth in such a volatile sit­u­a­tion. As her father storms off, leav­ing her momen­tar­i­ly safe, a fleet­ing sense of relief wash­es over the pro­tag­o­nist, but it’s quick­ly tem­pered by the knowl­edge that this tem­po­rary reprieve may not last. Just as the ten­sion peaks, rain final­ly begins to fall, bring­ing with it a sense of cleans­ing and renew­al, as though the storm is wash­ing away the dark­ness of their cur­rent cir­cum­stances. The rain sym­bol­izes not only the lit­er­al change that is need­ed in the drought-strick­en town but also the fig­u­ra­tive change that the pro­tag­o­nist so des­per­ate­ly seeks in her own life. Despite the brief relief, the pro­tag­o­nist knows that the strug­gle is far from over, and the storm is mere­ly a tem­po­rary reprieve from the storm of emo­tions and fears that threat­en to over­whelm her.