Burning Wings: The Death Of Faith

The wind is loud. Pushing against my skin as my wings pound behind my back. My ears ring as the wind passes them, deafening the rest of the world. My smile is wide and full on my face even as I push forward, the wind making my skin ache with pricks of cold. My breathing is steady as it is rapid, but I don’t tire, I never do. I can see the city below, dazzling and gritty, sparkling and rough, stunning and foul. People walk below, living for the day. I could not, the bore and dullness of reptation without my faith, without my purpose, it would drive me mad. I look high and try to ignore the people below, the mindless drones, without any faith or purpose. I could never dream of that life.

A cry, a plea, a scream. The noise pieces through the wind and I cannot help but be drawn to the source. Pounding movement slows to a soft beat as I slow, my wings stretching and gliding. The blood red wings, dark and clean, stretch and carry me as I glide across the sky, looking for the sound. Soft sobs carry across the sky and I look to the source. A desperation to find them fills me but I swallow, I will indulge but I will not help, I will not stray, I will stay in the wind. I fly above and look for the broken sound.

There is a church, a place of worship and faith, it stands tall, it is proud and shines on all the building around it. And there is a girl, her body is wrecked with sobs as she curls on the stairs of the church. Her sobs are muddled with begs for help, for please forgiveness, for cries of kindness.

The doors are closed, and there are people inside. I can hear their chatter and pray, their talk of kindness. It could have drowned out the begging sobs of the girl, if it weren’t for the fact that there was a pause in the prayer, and that silence was filled by her. Her sobbing pleas ring loud and true. I pause, my eyes fall on the girl and my hand twitches. My wings falter, they skip a beat… They skip a single beat. I look to the sky and smile, moving away. My eyes firmly on the sky as I move away. Not letting myself watch the broken girl any longer. And not acknowledging the fact that my smile was forced, and that I feel heavy while I turn away, the sobbing still in my ears.

Blue skies blaze across the horizon, golden clouds shine from above, lighting my wings in a brilliant light. I smile as I witness this, my wings, so strong and beautiful, radiate the light as they move, taking me higher and higher. I soar above the clouds, moving higher and higher, my skin freezing and burning at the same time as I move, faster and faster. Further away.

Across the sky is blinding colour, there is a clean taste in the wind when you are so high up. I could never leave this; a breath of fresh air fills my lungs, and my smile grows wider. Beating wings steady me as I take the moment to listen to the wind as it passes my ears. My eyes run across the sky and casually drift downwards, no real intention to the action other than lazy recognition of one’s surroundings.

Fast moving colours and clumsy movement catches my eyes. It is bright and playful and innocent, no malice or dark intention in the sporadic and chaotic movement. It’s children, kids playing and running wild. Bright shirts and colourful balls move on the field as they run and chase, pure careless fun. No responsibility or loyalty to anything but a game of chase or soccer or whatever they please, changing at a whim. Their gleeful cheers fill the air, and I cannot help but laugh with them, their antics are silly and small and meaningless but so fun. There is nothing but joy in their faces.

Laughter falls from my mouth, and I smile at the scene, joyful and innocent. As my chest rises with the infectious laughs my head rolls and the red of my wings catches my eyes, but it not my wings. My eyes are glued on the now dull images as the laughter dies in my chest. Blood leaks on the pavement, only a trickle but enough for me to know what is behind the wall blocking my view. There is blood, it soaks the cement as it floods out of the source. My wings, the same colour as the horrid liquid trickling out from the corner, carry me to a different angle, and I look upon a man. He is just lying there, chest falling and rising ever so slightly, slowing as the seconds drag on. He is no more than 20 meters from the children. He is slumped up poorly against a wall as blood runs down his shirt and pants and mouth. There is a never-ending stream of the rich liquid that flows from him, it didn’t gush or sputter randomly, it was smooth and continues as the man was drained out on the sidewalk. The children’s laughter can be heard and drowns out the mans exhausted panting.

Watching as the man bleeds out, willing myself to stay, if just to not let the stranger be alone. His blood slows and the pool starts to slow its spread, as there was nothing left to spread. I can hear the last few pathetic stuttering beats of his dying heart, his body growing slack and his lungs closing. He lays there, alone and silent. Well, not alone anymore.

He is older, broken with age and greying with time. His clothes, once clean, are creased and filthy, blood staining the light blue shirt. You can see cuts and tears in his pants, and his boots are scuffed and mute. The only colour that stands on him is the red that has seeped and bleed from him till there was none left to lose.

Bright colours run across the corner of my eye. Clumsy and careless. The loud pat-pat-pat squelch of a child’s boots on the wet grass demanding my attention. I turn and see a child running towards the man, no not towards the man, to the ball that was in line with the wall. Angled so delicately that the child would not see the body of the dead man till they had collected the ball and looked up. They would not see the blood, that has rolled from the cement into the grass of the field, the grass they would tread across to reach the ball. I look to the sky, not sure if I’m pleading to have never saw this or to be able to intervene. I watch in mute horror as the child draws closer, watching till I feel myself grow heavy, my wings slowing. I turn to the sky, not sure if I am smiling but not wanting to dwell or take the time to check.

My wings rush me away, my blood is ice in my veins, and I can feel the unease in my gut. My wings are heavy, almost dragging me down with their suffocating weight. They are crushing my back and I feel like they are spurted out of my lungs instead of my shoulders. The wind feels like the only things that is keeping me from falling, from losing the last of the precious air in my throat. The crushing weight on rises as the wind carry’s me higher and further way. A shattering scream catches in my wind trail as I reach the cloud tops, and it is dragged away before it could reach me, that’s what I believe at least. And that the warm liquid dripping down my face is the start of rain about to fall to the ground.
Time blurs and mixes, drifting together and swelling in the cooking pot of memory. I can remember each sunset and every sunrise, but I cannot remember the in between. The warm feeling of bliss is a comfort as the cool indifference of memory that lays below, freezing my blood when I drift too close. The drumming in my ear is constant and steady, unlike the sporadic mess below. If I were to fall asleep right this second than I would dream of the colour of the sky, and not the shades of the people.

Flying so high that the shades of once colours blur together, you can hear the chaotic broken symphony of screaming music, but you cannot focus on any one sound. The noise drowns each other out. My ears strain to do so anyway, and I consciously drift lower, focusing of going lower but not too far. The cold pecking at my skin as I leave the warmth of the sky and glide along the horizon, just about the world but not in it. The noise of humanity rings in my head and bounces around my skull, knocking into my brain and leaving me dizzy and uncertain of my decision. Not that leaving would help, their noise of forever drilled into my brain.

As my wings keep me afloat, the sky matching the dramatic colours of my wings, I tune into the mess. The hopeless begging, the joyful cries and the playful words of dreamers. It fills the streets and with every second a new sound is added to the orchestra, and another takes its leave. A new voice is added from below and it is the mournful melody of the song. Looking for the new noise, trying to catch the line and follow it to its home, my ears lead me to a crossing.

There are people everywhere, they walk and run and saunter and wander around the street. Thousands upon thousands of voices clashing and melding together. In the crowed one stands still. Tears frame her face, and she strains to stand in the crowd as people push and move and drift in every direction. Her hair is long and fallen from her plats, now beginning to knot and tangle. The crowed ignore her, not bothering to look at the child. The shirt she is wearing is pink and stands out from the shades and tones that surround her. From above she is so small in the swarm. They are crushing her. She stands against the crowed, her strength is waning, and the never-ending swarm do not slow for the child.
I can’t look away. Bile rises in my throat as sobs catch in my mouth. I try to close my eyes only to find every time they are forced open, blurred with tears. I look to the sky; it is darkening, and the sun is setting. The light thins and shadows drown everything. My wings, dark and rich seem almost black in this light. The child is crying still, she calls out but to the world her begs for help are drowned out by the infinite others. She is looking around, scanning faces and her own face droops as the dawning realisation hits her.

My hands reach for her, fingers outstretched. I know I am too far away, but I cannot leave her. How many little ones will be left alone after her… I can’t fly. I feel myself falling before I realise what is happening, I can smell the burning stench of my skin before I feel it. The flames are kissing my skin and embracing me as the wind cuts across me. My wings are alight, and they are bright, oranges and yellows light the sky in a show of burning grief, and victory. My- The wings attached to me are dragging me down and I cry out with victory, laughing as I fall, because the world stops. The people in the streets are silent as they watch me fall, my burning ashes not touching them as they watch me falling and burning. There is no noise but the crackling of the fire as to eats through me and my vicious laughter. They stop and they see me. The little girl is now the only one moving. She is running away from the crowed and escaping their mass. Pushing through the stunned statues and she is leaving, she is escaping.

She is out! The kisses turn to burns and I can’t feel the fire I know is on my skin I let myself laugh, it is hoarse and broken and maybe a bit manic, but it is mine and is full of hope. I fell burning, I can’t feel a thing, and I can see that little girl standing safely away. I smile as I fall, she is bathed in my light. Her smile reflects my own and for a second, I wonder if I was always destined for this. If it is true, then what a beautiful and cruel destiny.

As my decent quickens and the world blurs, I look up and see the sky, so large and imposing, without care for me as I fall. My laughter dies off, but my smile doesn’t fade. If I was meant to burn, I am glad I could help, even just once. I hear it before I feel it, a shattering crash and a crunching sound as I hit the ground. The last of the light blurs and it all becomes still darkness.




My body lurches forward, sore and in pain. My breathing is quick, and I cannot see. A sob escapes me, but just as soon as it is there, I silence it. Adjusting myself and feeling the soft sheets shift underneath me, a gentle reminder of safety. My hands smooth the crumpled sheets and I control my breathing until I my head is clear. It was only a dream.