Nessacary Sacrifice

Chapter 6: The Forgotten Guardian

 A/N: Hi there I recently edited this and I’m pleased I want to go back and add more in some places but I’m satisfied enough to name it. So here it is. Angelo is definitely Prego. And shout out and thank you to Thurston Hearts for an awesome cover! Well get started reading! Much love.

Waxen plumes stained the purplish-blue night sky drifting on the silken touch of the breeze. A sleek body that cut through the air as noiselessly as a majestic barn owl swooping upon its prey followed them. If someone where walking that night they would have seen what looked like an angel with flaxen hair garbed in an Armani suit soaring through the air. But no one walked really; there wasn’t a need to. These days you rarely saw cars racing across the roads, or unhurriedly cruising to no particular place, People only used cars for status or backup transportation. Walking was a transportation that was meant exclusively for the underprivileged. In other words walking was overrated these days people didn’t need to work out to stay slim…there was a pill for that.

Angelo wasn’t like everyone else; he enjoyed walking just like he enjoyed flying. Delilah sometimes took him out walking. It was rare but she did it because she knew how much he enjoyed it. Even though Delilah showed him love, affection, and gave him his hearts yearnings Angelo felt like just a pet sometimes. An animal of exquisite beauty kept on chain and leash to be adored and loved. The feeling felt dehumanizing and part of him resented it, the part of him that lay biased and imperfect. Angelo pushed the feeling away he closed his eyes and let the air slide over him.

He felt so liberated so…free this feeling didn’t come to him often anymore those feelings where only for the poor. In all Angelo’s life he’d never been poor, he’d been subject to many private lessons from tutors from far and wide about religion, empathy, and love. He’d been taught water polo, football, soccer, and any other sport you could think of. Even though he had all of those advantages that other kids may not have had Angelo felt deprived. Like all those years living in fast Los Angeles had been missing something. Angelo had long ago speculated what it was.

Angelo started to descend the air pushed his hair back white wings acting as a parachute, he looked like a majestic bird falling slowly from the air as if he where stopping time tumbling, tumbling, tumbling to the ground. Leo folded his wings his face rested stoic and beautiful like a marble statue of a complacent god. Angelo landed he stood before a labyrinth. When Angelo was a child he’d read about labyrinths in fairytales, fables, and in old gardening magazines. They fascinated him. Unlike mazes they weren’t meant to confuse or trick their walker. They were supposed to help the person find the answer to a question.

Angelo crossed his arms across his chest. The heady smell of decaying leaves and wood entered his nose. It was unlike the normal synthetic aromas he was used to and Angelo liked it.  He started walking slowly into the labyrinth looking at the twisting walls of foliage.  Sconces of olive and brown leaves graced the hedge lit with flicker red fire – poppies. The ground was covered in a misting layer of spidery roots that hid the cobblestones that peeked shyly behind them.

The thing Angelo had speculated he was missing had been a parent, guardian, mother, father. Whatever word suited what the former adults in his life had been

Angelo began to think; to him a parent to was supposed to be there for their child when they needed help. There for their child when they were going through emotional trauma inflicted upon them. A parent was supposed to love and cheer you on. Come to your games just to watch you; not bet money on you. Angelo felt all the extra toys and teachers where from his “parents” to say sorry. It was the only way they knew. Angelo had been his parents test baby, the experiment that succeeded, the Los Angeles miracle boy.

When Angelo thought about what had been home when he was younger. He could recall the stinging smell of disinfected that seemed to seep from everywhere and stay in your nostrils. He could feel the pinching of uncomfortable needles, being strapped to cold metal beds, adults that spoke in superior tones in a hushed manor in front of him. He remembered sleeping in locked bedrooms, nightmares held at bay not by parents but the firm belief they didn’t exist. He remembered hands that still gripped him now. Hands that held him down and examined every part of him, Hands that cut him, hands that made him cry. Never once when had he ever received assurance that it was ok. That he was ok that things would get better.