Wingless

1. The Landing

Charlie

            It wasn't every day that a naked girl landed on my front lawn. And man, did she land. My eyes caught sight of an object slamming hard into the ground only a few feet away from me. Images of meteorites and malfunctioning bombs flashed in my mind as I crouched and cowered.

            I felt my mouth droop open in an embarrassing demonstration of my lack of self-control. Typically, I wasn't one to stare. But if that day had been of the typical sort, then there wouldn't have been a reason for me to.

            Her hair was long, like it had never been cut. It was a bit messy, too; it seemed like she'd meant to brush it but had never gotten around to it. I was still for a moment, letting my heart resume its natural rhythm.

            She was crumpled on the grass, a tangled mass of limbs and pale skin and red ribbon. Okay, so she wasn't actually naked. A long, thick, expensive-looking crimson sash was expertly wrapped around her body, barely covering what needed to be covered. She looked like an acrobat dazed from too many high-altitude spins. I'd seen newborn babies wear more.

            I couldn't decide fast enough whether to look away or to help her up. Eventually, she stood on her own. It must have been around those few seconds when logic kicked in. I looked up at the sky and back at the girl.

            She must have been drunk because she wobbled like she was just getting her sea legs.It really wasn't all that uncommon aside from the near nudity. I lived down the street from the university and sometimes the 'Walk of Shame' became the 'Stumble of Inebriation'.

            Her eyes were closed, and I could have sworn her ears twitched as she spoke."I should speak English here, yes?"

            Oh, great. Some foreign exchange student had wandered onto my lawn. It was much easier to believe than what I thought I'd just seen. This girl could not have fallen from the sky.

            As pretty as she was, she didn't have any wings. Also, the lack of trees in my front yard would indicate that she had fallen directly from the sky. I ignored the heavy indent on my lawn where she still stood.

            She spoke again. "Or do you prefer another—"

            "No, English is right," I said, refusing to be charmed by her accent and still averting my eyes from her all-too-bare body. She spoke with what seemed like an accent, but I wasn't familiar with it. It was some sort of uneven lilt with an emphasis on enunciation and a lisp of some kind. It sounded graceful, but very fast.

            She must have been completely wrecked; she still hadn't opened her eyes. Note to self: never join a fraternity.

            Exasperated and realizing that I was becoming increasingly late, I took a few steps toward her. I offered her my cell phone or a big t-shirt. Her face contorted into a confused expression and she stepped out of the concave imprint she'd left.

            Even with her eyes shut, she was definitely in the category of gorgeous. Her hair was strawberry blonde, complementing her naturally blushing cheeks. She hummed a discontented noise, and I suddenly wanted to see her eyes beyond that wavy hair.

            "What's your name?" I asked her, my gaze flickering to the neighborhood around us. The last thing I needed was my neighbors thinking I'd made friends with the visiting nudist.