Flight School: Predator

Waiting for Freedom

It was yet another nightmare that woke the vulture from his sleep.

The contents of it long forgotten, his eyes—once wide with fear—slackened in their effort to close, again, on the world that was dark. He listened to nothing, and, for a while, waited for sleep to return.

For the common person, sleep was heavy in its grasp but for Vaughn, it was evasive; as everything else was in his world, they slipped out of his grasp.

Nothing remained.

Vaughn waited for it to return but it didn't. And after some time of refusing to acknowledge this common occurrence, he sat up, hair falling all over the place. Too long, and too hot. Time showed itself on the digital clock by his bedside table, just alongside his silencer. It was for comfort that he placed it within his reach, for who knew what might come in the night?

The darkness was uncertain; as it was, as always, and Vaughn didn't want to take any chances. The worst way in which death could come was when it wasn't himself that pulled the trigger but someone else. A fear of being determined.

The bottom of his feet touched the floor that was ice, shivering a little from the chill of night. He thought of taking a bath but it wasn't feasible; not with four more hours to spare. Class was not until eight in the morning and Vaughn had nothing to do, nothing to be.

Assignments due weeks later were completed within a day's focus and boring entertainment. At least there was something to distract him with but now?

Now, in the heart of the night where the sun had yet to rise, Vaughn felt as though he was nothing—left alone to himself: the scariest thing of all.

It was the danger of mind. The phantom of thought.

Thinking was precisely what made Vaughn afraid of himself in the night. What was an empty darkness could be made into something at the end of the hallway, hiding underneath the stairs or below his bed—anywhere. He was not safe in his mind.

Was anyone?

Vaughn had to do something to distract himself.

He felt for the light switch; vision poor under such circumstances. It blinked, like an eye and he had to wince from the glaring lights. The vulture found, however, some kind of comfort in the light that filled his dorm. A dorm that was far too big for a single person's occupation.

Nox grunted, opening an eye to greet her Winged. She was a tad too used to such midnight adventures and interruption of sleep. Nightmares were not uncommon for Vaughn.

"Sorry," He said quietly. Nox was the only one who often heard his apologies; whether it was in his mind or aloud like the dismissive ones that just passed his lips.

Vaughn descended the stairs and took to the kitchen where he sought the company of his refrigerator. Cold air hit him in the face but it was not this that brought a sooth to his erratic heart. It was, instead, the sharp scent of spice that sparked his senses—dull, on usual days—into a growing appetite.

He spotted the transparent container filled with kimchi tucked into the corner of the second shelf. That would have to do.

Chopsticks and a bowl, he transferred enough to fill the latter and placed the container back into its rightful position. He paused;

Then began to feed.