The Boy's Wings

Chapter One: White eyes

© 2014,EvieJT. Except as provided by the Copyright Act August 18, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. 

                                             Chapter One: White eyes

            It was a cold December morning, when I woke to see a boy. He was sitting at the foot of my bed. His eyes were as white as the snow that landed that morning. It was strange to me, to a six year old kid who thought she was still dreaming. He was dressed in all white, white shirt, white pants. My eyes couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The boy was around my age, his black hair seemed to extract with his pale skin. I wanted to speak but when I opened my mouth nothing came out. The boy placed a finger to his lips and signaled me to stay silent.

            There were two loud pops coming from down below. It made my heart pound, but I stayed silent. The boy came closer to me, his white wings expanding, like a white ocean that was crashing over me. I heard rapid, horrid steps coming from the main hallway. I could see the shadows of boots at the creek of my door. The boy wrapped me into his wings, and I saw the man with a terrifying purple and pink scare on his left eyebrow. The man was tall, and husky. He gazed at me, but he didn’t actually see me. His eyes were black like coil, his faced seems unhuman. He had characteristics of an animal, covered in human skin. Quickly he squatted and checked the bottom of the bed, then the closet. He found nothing, but I saw everything.

            It felt like hours had passed by. The boy didn’t let go, but I felt at peace. I could hear police sirens echoing from down the street. I knew something vile had happen. The boy let go once a few men in uniforms barged into my room, they began to comfort me. My tears and shouts were loud and clear. My voice seemed strange; it was different. It seemed as if it was a bird’s call for its mother. It was my call for mine. One officer stayed with me. None of them could see the boy.

“What’s your name sweetie?” The nice woman officer asked. I struggled to reply. My attention was on the boy. He was standing by the door in silence. He didn’t move, just gazed.

“My name is Angelica.” I responded minutes later once the boy had faded.

            My parents were killed that morning. A gung shot wound to both of their heads. I had seen the photos of the crime scene when the officers were almost done interviewing me. I wasn’t much help to them so they left for a coffee break leaving the folder with the photos on the table, so I peaked. My mother who landed on the floor had her eyes bulging out, blood flooding around her head…and neck… and torso. My father landed on the floor as well, but he was in a chair when he did. He was reading his newspaper while my mother fixed our breakfast. 

            That same day I also found out that they weren’t my actual parents. They were a kind unfertile married couple who found a beloved newborn wrapped with a silk white cloth, in an alley late at night. They took me in, raised me as if I were blood. I had nowhere to go. My parents were singled children and my grandmother had gone to heaven a year prior. It was a blessing that the kind woman officer didn’t see me as broken, instead an opportunity. Mrs. Gonzales took me into her home. I then had two foster mothers.

            I would have night terrors, night after night. Gloria Gonzales, the officer had stayed up with me night after night. Alex Gonzales would as well. On those same nights I secretly promised myself that I would get revenge on the man that killed my parents. I would hurt them like they hurt my parents. I would bring justice since the law couldn’t. The police officers never found the killers, but I told myself that I would.

            It took me years until I was able to call Gloria and Alex mom. Not because I didn’t love them but because I couldn’t find the strength to do so. I use to believe if I were to call them mom, they would both be murdered like my mother. I couldn’t bare that thought. With their guidance I was a grown adult with a career.

            It was a Monday morning when I walked into my classroom. It was the first day of high school for many of the students and it was the first day of teaching at a high school for Mr. Thatcher. I hadn’t seen him or heard of him, so it was as if I was a highschooler again and there was a new student who moved into town. His class was next to mine, his room number 236, mine 238. We both taught English to freshman. It seemed to me he was irresponsible. He hadn’t arrived earlier, to help the freshman move around. The bell rang.

“Good Morning class, I am Ms. Gonzales. Yes, I am that cruel teacher that everyone was warning you about over summer. So let’s get the record straight here. I am neither your babysitter nor your parent. I am just your educator. If you don’t do your work, I will not scorn you for not doing it. Yet, if you are that student that didn’t do your work all throughout the year, I will be that teacher that will put the same amount of work into passing you. If you do your work and still not passing for some reason, I will see to it that you have another opportunity to fix that. And if you do your work and are passing, we’ll have no problem.” I said the speech quickly and firmly like I had practice over the summer. The truth was I was a push over. That year I had wanted to change that.

“If you have problems at home or in school, you are welcome to speak with me. I will do whatever I can to help.” I added, watching the students stare at me with wide eyes and a loose jaw.

“Questions?” I asked. No one raised their hands. I wouldn’t have either if I had seen how frightening I was.

“Okay, Let’s introduce ourselves by passing this stick around. Whoever has it will speak.” I smiled and handed it to the girl with the glasses in the front row.

“Hi, Uhm…” The girl blushed red. I understood, it’s was hard for me to speak with confidence at her age.

“A little louder please.” I responded with a brief smile.

“Hi, my name is Sky Blue.” She said with a trembling voice, it was then when I noticed she had bruises on her chest where the polo shirt didn’t cover completely. She passed the stick back, and when she did another bruised appeared around her sleeve.

“Hi my name is…” I heard about twenty-five times. It was annoying but it was mandatory.

            The bell rang again ending first period. The students in the back, the trouble makers, made their way out the fastest. I watch as Sky slowly packed her notebook. Her green eyes full with desperation, something was wrong. Sky glanced back at me, she quickly turned away.

“Mrs. Blue” I asked after everyone had left. She had stayed for a reason. She wore her ruby red curly hair tied back in a ponytail. Sky put on her book bag very slowly; she then came to my desk.

“Yes mam.” She responded with respect, something that was needed in her generation.

“Is there something I should know?” I asked as I glanced at her bruised collar bone.

“No mam.” She glared at her feet as she heard my question. Sky didn’t know what to respond, like many abused children.

“Now Mrs. Blue please look me in the eyes and tell me that you are saying the truth.”  I told her. Sky slowly gazed up, her green eye glossy and her face full with shame.

“I’m saying the truth. I have to go to my next class, mam.” Sky turned to look at the hallway, where many students walked across.

“Alright.” I nodded in agreement. I stood to walk her out but she was already out the door. She had almost collided with a tall male figure as she exited my room. The man waltzed into my room with no hesitation. He stood tall; firm framed, and had pitch black hair. I then caught a glimpse of white in his eyes.

 “Hi, I’m Erik Thatcher. I’m the new English teacher.” He stated raising his hand for a formal handshake. 

________

New Angel story! Please kindly comment and vote!  -EvieJT