The Stillness Between Beats

Zippy was up before the sun.

Not because she had to be—but because her mind had decided it was time.

Thoughts tumbled over each other like a drawer of mismatched socks:
Did I plug in my phone? What day is it? I wonder if that flea market still has that ceramic cat lamp. Oh! I never finished that spicy chapter with the tentacles. Mmm, coffee. Where’s my notebook? Did I feed the plants? Wait—plants don’t eat. But they’re alive. Oh stars, I love my plants.

She zipped through her little loft, wings fluttering a gentle hum behind her. Her feathers glimmered in the dim light—emeralds catching gold, rubies blushing rose. Her nest-bed was a soft mess of colorful scarves and lavender-scented stuffing, her vintage treasures scattered around her like memories she could touch.

And somewhere beneath it all, she felt it: that low, slow beep from deep in her chest.

beep…
A reminder.

You need to breathe. You need to pause.

Zippy hovered mid-air and closed her eyes. Her pacemaker was gentle, but its rhythm always made itself known when she’d been moving too fast for too long. It wasn’t painful—but it was humbling. A whispered “slow down” from the universe.

She fluttered to the windowsill and sat. Just sat.

The sun cracked over the horizon, spilling molten peach light across the city rooftops. Birds sang. Distant traffic murmured. She sipped the tiniest bit of jasmine tea from her thimble-sized cup, letting the warmth unfurl inside her.

Her feathers relaxed. Her breath deepened.

And in that stillness, she felt her heartbeat settle into a steady thrum—not the frantic pulse of overthinking, but the calm reminder that she was alive. Here. Now.

She picked up her tiny notebook—her “naughty thoughts journal,” as she liked to call it—and doodled hearts in the margins. Then, slowly, words spilled from her beak:

“She pressed her lips to the stranger’s collarbone, tasting sea salt and secrets. His breath caught. Her wings trembled. ‘Tell me what you want,’ she whispered. He did.”

Zippy giggled, covering her face with her feathers. “Oof, that’s spicy,” she whispered, eyes sparkling.

Writing always made her feel grounded. Free. Seen.

Today wasn’t about racing or rescuing or running errands. Today was hers.

She wandered into the cozy bathroom, heated a few pebbles in the sink, and made herself a mini steam bath. The scent of eucalyptus rose around her as she perched on a warm stone, wings folded, body soft.

“I deserve this,” she whispered. “I’m allowed to rest.”

Later, she’d probably text Bumbly and drag him out for sushi. Or maybe she’d find a retro brooch at the flea market. Maybe not.

For now, she was just Zippy.

Buzzing quietly.
Breathing deeply.
Alive and radiant in the stillness between beats.