0.2 Pigeon

Above and below, all the man could see were clouds. He seemed to be standing in midair, as if there was a tiny platform of glass suspended beneath his feet. Glancing around, he saw nothing but the vast expanse of the day’s sky. The sun beat down on his warming face, cheerfully peeking between pillars of white as the gentle wind swept through his raven hair. It was almost… peaceful. Except it was eerily quiet; no birdsong, nothing. Just the breath of the gods softly ringing through his ears.

“I see you’ve made it, finally. It took you long enough, boy.”

Startled, he turned back towards the voice, to find a tall framed woman step towards him. The clacking of her porcelain white heels on a floor of nothing echoed through the space they stood in like sharp thunder.

“You…” He felt his voice falter as a harsh metallic taste formed in his mouth.

“What the hell am I doing up here?”

“Now, child, you haven’t seen your dear mother in oh so long, and you can’t so much as greet me, hmm?” She cooed. Something felt… off. Whilst the man’s hair fluttered through the wind, the woman’s brushed-steel hair stayed perfectly static, completely undisturbed by the winds surrounding them.

“Well, mother, I hate to break it to you, but I can’t say I’m exactly thrilled to see you. I’d say I fared pretty fucking well without you.” He snapped.

The woman, with eyes of aged gold, merely smirked at her son’s remark.

“I can see that. You’ve grown up; became quite the gentleman, I must say. A bit of a temper, too.” She reached up to his face, caressing his cheek. “Just like your dear mother, so polite and tidied- not to brag of course.”, she chuckled to herself. He shifted away from her touch as her pristine ivory nails scratched at his skin; her hand was cold as ice, despite the near overwhelming warmth that surrounded him.

“I’m nothing like you.” He spat.

Her gaze began to slightly darken at the remark, gold irises slowly becoming shrouded in murky grey, like full moons on a winter’s night. Besides this, his comment didn’t appear to faze her in the slightest.

“But you could be. I don’t need to tell you what true potential is, boy; you already know of it. The Vega family’s powers grow stronger with each passing generation, so it would be wise to take advantage of that, no?”

“I’ve seen what sort of things you’ve done with those powers. I will have no part in it. If anything, it’s a curse, not a power.”

The woman cackled and took a step back to face away from him, amusing herself with his statement whilst admiring the clouds around her, as they began to shift from pale blues and yellows to abyssal violets and nauseating oranges.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet child. You don’t know the half of what one can be capable of with such a blessing that you’ve been graciously handed.” She turned back to face him, and briefly smiled.

“My dear, do you wish to know of something that never ceases to perplex me?”

The man gritted his teeth, growing wary of her somewhat cheerful demeanor clashing with her darkening eyes, as the winds stood ever still around her person.

Not bothering to expect a reply from him, she answered. “Mortal fears. That of heights, in particular. In actuality, it is but a myth, a facade. Nothing but a feeling of disconnect with the oh so precious ground beneath their feet. The true fear stems from one plummeting into the depths of nowhere, as the instability and uncertainty cloud their minds as to what lies below. It’s all… so simple and quite pitiful, wouldn’t you say?”

Again, no response. As she spoke, her irises were now shrouded in a deep night black, while below her eyes diamond markings began to glow a burning yellow.

“But angels are no mortals. We do not feel such things. Such… Emotional concepts are nothing but insignificant; merely obstacles from achieving true greatness. Where do they manifest from then, child?”

It may have been the cracking of joints and bone, but the man could have sworn he had heard cries of damned souls emerging, as a pair of billowing white and grey wings protruded from the woman’s back, each feather as pristine as fresh snow. It was as if the shimmering feathers could manipulate the flows of air around him, bounding and refusing him the freedom of movement – this new form was so overwhelming to his being, he could barely catch a breath; as if he was about to dissolve into dust if his body remained in her sickening presence for any longer.

“Why, the heart of course. I find it to be such a weak, fragile organ…” She said playfully, her piercing gaze searing into the man’s skin. “See, angels have no need for hearts. Only puny mortals experience such futile things as feelings, as they plummet to their unknowing end, accompanied by nothing but their hearts’ beating cries.”

Her voice echoed deafeningly through the space, with the growing winds screeching past his ears as he was painfully forced to hear the woes they carried.

“You’ve been granted a prosperous path within this divine family. Yet you’ve become nothing but a mortal worm, my sun. You’ve grown feeble, malleable and … emotional.” As she uttered the word her expression turned to one of disdain. “How utterly pathetic.”

She outstretched her arm towards her son, and through his clouded vision, he noticed her hands had turned a veiny black, like ink had leeched its way up her arms from her now dark claw-like fingertips. Her fingers slowly closed in and as if out of nowhere, the man felt a tugging force in his chest, growing tighter and tighter, as if something was desperately trying to leave his ribcage with all its might. 

“But, as your loving mother, I am willing to help you out a little bit. To put you back on the right path, as it were. It is for your own good, Haziel.” The manner in which she uttered her child’s name felt like sharpened needles to his soul, one for each letter of his given name.

With a final tug, she clenched her fist firmly. The ghostly winds silenced, so all Haziel could hear was a sound akin to the sharp snap of rubber bands, yet in actuality it was the tearing of ruby muscle and pearly ribs, as through his bleary vision he noticed blotches of scarlet drip down to his feet, descending to stain the pillows of clouds below him with red.

As the harshly bright clouds swirled between his darkening view and he began to feel his mind slip away from a sense of consciousness, he hazily saw his mother – although now, closer to the mother of all otherworldly horrors – gaze scornfully upon his heart that had once resided in his person, suspended in the air over her sharpened hand. By some mystical force, the heart continued to beat, its veins of gold pulsating, despite being without a body to house it.

Darkness overtaking his sight and mind, his body went limp, and like an angel falling from grace, the man plummeted downwards through the void of clouds.

~

Haziel’s eyes flew open, frantically flitting around his tidily messy bedroom for a source of familiarity, a grounding point; having just felt like he had been mid fall from an infinite height. His chest ached, a reason for which he could not seem to recall. His lungs gasping for air, he wearily rose from his bed, attempting to get his bearings. From what he could tell, it was early morning, judging by the pale light struggling to grasp its way through his curtains.

A sudden cough arose from his throat, protruding a small white feather with flecks of grey. “Stupid pigeons… I could have sworn I shut the window last night.”

Haziel groggily walked to the bathroom, in hopes to wake himself up from his night’s disorderly rest. The cold sky-blue tiles, that consisted of more crack than tile, chilled his feet as he approached the small sink. He made a mental note to look into fixing the creaky tap, whilst he applied a near critical amount of force to obtain a mere dribble of water. Raph was the smart one, he of all people would know how to fix these sorts of things – Alessi had absolutely no chance on the other hand, he thought amusingly. They would just beat the thing to death with a wrench and call it a day.

He looked up to the mirror above the sink, assessing potential reasons as to why he felt like, well, absolute shit. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what had occurred the previous night – he wasn’t one for alcohol and was sure he went to sleep at a reasonable hour. Well, give or take on the latter option. 2 am was considered reasonable, surely? Haziel saw very little out of the ordinary; day-old stubble, constellations of acne that would never seem to go away, and dark circles that hung under his ochre eyes which may as well be tattoos due to their permanence on his face.

After a fatigued sigh, he took a washcloth and held it under the soulless tap, watching the icy water soak through it and pool into the basin. A frigid chill ran down his spine; it must have just been his body’s reaction to the sudden temperature difference, Haziel thought, as he rubbed his face to try and wash away some of the exhaustion. Looking back up to the mirror, his body froze.

The pale leaf-patterned shower curtain that was typically behind him on any other day was now shrouded in a flurry of those same white and grey feathers, as if a sudden blizzard had flooded through his tiny bathroom. This was no pigeon’s doing.

He glared back at himself, his body motionless in shock, facing the horror of his reflection staring back at him, except his eyes were becoming engulfed in inky black, creeping ever closer to his golden pupils like a total eclipse. Haziel’s head pounded, brain slamming into his skull as if to try and escape its bone housing. Shutting his eyes in a futile attempt to shield himself from the horrid sights reflected to him, his eyeballs pulsed rapidly under their lids, as his vision morphed through frays of monochrome static.

His eyes burned and stung, forcing him to stare once again at… was it really himself? There’s no way this could be real, he’d shunned all memory of it deep down… surely. The silvered wings were speckled with red with presumably (his?) blood, and his shoulders ached and cried in pain from the growth of two extra limbs that had suddenly protruded from them, flapping maniacally around the now extremely cramped bathroom.

Haziel could barely hear himself think through the blur of incessant fluttering these stupid fucking wings where did they come from why the fuck are they here how do I make them just go away please please please and the ceaseless buzz of his bathroom light fuck I need to fix the damn thing Haz you fucking idiot with the sharp stinging of his eyes oh gods my head hurts so much please I just want this all to STOP-

Having left the tap running, the pale blue water had collected into the sink and with one sharp swoop, Haziel plunged his head into the depths in a desperate search for a glimpse of quiet.

For a moment, it felt like time had stopped, there in that universe of a bathroom sink. The haunting buzz was no more. The cool swishes of water embracing his face were welcoming, removing the seemingly perpetual pain he’d felt in but an instant. The racket that had burned through his ears had dimmed down, and he could feel his back muscles begin to relax. It seemed like eons since he had felt so… calm. Tilting his head back up, droplets of water shimmering like diamonds on his face and through his hair, he noticed his eyes were reverting to their original state; rafts of gold straw in a sea of pearl white, narrowly escaped the clutches of the night’s storm. To his relief, those wretched wings had also vanished – he had never been so pleased to see that damn shower curtain behind him.

Feeling a cool sensation on his shoulders, he reached to touch the back of his shirt and examined his fingers – the ridges of his fingerprints were now slightly smeared with blood. His back was no longer searing with pain – strange. He pulled over the shirt to examine further, and was greeted with two jagged tears down the shirt… and a perfectly healed back. As if nothing had ripped through his skin from his shoulderblades mere moments ago. The only sign of damage was that left on his blood-damped clothing. Haziel was frankly too shaken to process this, tossing the ruined sleep shirt into the bin. Swaying his hands in the still filled sink, he watched the water clear away the blood as if it were rinsing the sins from his damned being, dying itself a dulled crimson.

Looking back at his reflection, his face seemed near ten times more ragged and fatigued than a few minutes ago when he woke up. “You look like a right wreck, for fuck’s sake. You can’t be seen like this now, can you?” With a brisk exhale, Haziel pressed his hands to his temples as he wearily stepped out of the bathroom. He was about to consider obtaining some form of sustenance, when he was struck mid-thought with a harsh hammering greeting his front door.