hell of an angel • [ original story ]

2 ; WAKE

"I'm waking up,
I feel it in my bones,

Enough to make
My system go."

2 ; WAKE

"excuse me, miss?" a distant voice said. my eyes were glued shut, and when i attempted to open them, they stayed closed. a low groan escaped my mouth as the same words repeated with the same loud, obnoxious, voice. "excuse me!" he yelled, this time his voice lined in the fine silk of frustration.

"ugh," i muster under my breath as i slowly and agonizingly painfully prop myself up on my elbows. when i open my eyes, i immediately shut them back, hissing in pain. "shit!" i say, and the same voice seems to pulsate in my ear, causing me to flinch at the intensity. "miss!" he calls one last time, and my head snaps in his direction, causing him to stop almost abruptly in his trail. "what?" i say angrily, my eyes never leaving his stubby form and gray goatee.

"y-you can't sleep here." i narrow my eyes at him, then letting them trail to my surroundings. at the intake, my mouth opens and a gasp escapes it. my fantasizing was quickly over when the man, once again, shouted at me. "you can't sleep here! people are trying to sit on the benches, so get off." i slowly turn my head back towards him, narrowing my eyes once again as i stare deep into his soul.

without breaking eye contact with him, i make my stand from the seat and pop my neck, just to scare him. i mentally laughed to myself when he blinks, flinching almost. after that, i begin walking away, watching every woman that passed me with intense, learning eyes. i then began to walk like them, talk like them, become one of them.

one of my many abilities is to become expendable when needed. yes, it may be called fake, and yes, that's all the fake people's motto, but in my case, i use it for the greater good. maybe i will have to live the rest of my life walking and talking and being one of the plastics like the other girls, but it's only for the sake of me actually having a life.

i was so damn tired of lucifer stepping all over me, trying to overthrow me when he knows he can't, testing me where there are no boundaries. i was done with his foolish games, his mocking figure of a 'father,' so i left. i left and never looked back.

my father once told me of all the stories of genesis, of when all the world was created. god told lot and his wife to run from their village, to never look back, and if they did, the angels would destroy them along with all of their other loved ones and belongings. lot's wife was a dumb motherfucker, and she looked back, granting her fate of being turned to fine salt. that was unfortunately one of my bed time stories almost daily, and i usually woke up screaming because of it. not only was lot's wife a harsh symbol, but she was clueless too.

so, that's why i never want to look back. i'm scared that when i do, my life will shatter to even more pieces than what it was, and i can't live like that. so as i walk towards what the people around me are calling the time square, i take in what i must cherish for a new life. tall, glass buildings. weird, colorful pictures on the large window-like structures. the booming, but catchy, music playing in the background. the honking of automobiles, loud and obnoxious. and then, the people. varied and yet still all the same, some this color and that, but all either running late to work, to school, or are on a tight schedule all the while.

everywhere i looked, it was busy, busy, busy. and then, i suddenly realized, this place had something much more than what hell had to offer. this place was extravagant, exemplary, a place where life is just an everyday thing. a place where death is possible, a place where death is daily, and that thought scared me. it scared me to a point of wanting to pray, but why pray when god would never accept your kind?

a small smile etched its way onto my face as my eyes still wondered around each building, wild color on a screen, or the varied people, as i thought vivid thoughts of what heaven must feel like, and how painful it would be to burn so bright there.

***

the 23 year old traced a long, skinny finger along the engraved mural, blue eyes wandering its shapes and curves instinctively as he muttered words under his breath.

"prophetiae,"
prophecy,

"infernus,"
hellfire,

"pugna."
fight.

these three words were unwillingly repetitive on his tongue, whipping it around in ways he ever knew it twisted in such an advanced language he never knew he could speak. a soothing voice had drawn him to these mysterious stones, these stones with strange markings of men with bird wings, and bowing humans at their feet.

for some amazing reason, this man had the guts to touch one of these stones, triggering a side of hostility and strength inside him that he never knew he had. he was always the one kid in high school that sat in the back of the class. he only had two or so friends his whole lifetime, and even now they're questioning his existence, but the only reason people shied away from him was because of his purity. not one of them had the guts to step up and be his friend, scared of being called a goody-two-shoes, or even a jesus freak.

stereotypes were his biggest and baddest enemy.

but as his fingers were centimeters away from touching this marvelous stone, the one that seemed to have called him there, tugging him by his toes until he obliged to come, nothing ran through his mind as he felt the energy from even miles away. this energy should have affected any other normal human being, but as you have already deciphered, this boy is not an average human being.

deep down inside of him, a blue ball of fire longed for the feeling of being set free, and he did just that once his fingertips grazed the engravings on the stone. his eyes became an electric blue as he stared up into space, now shocked by the energy coursing through his veins, filling his bodily system with raw power.

"prophetiae,"
prophecy,

"infernus,"
hellfire,

"pugna."
fight.

now, as he reluctantly pried his hand from the stone, he began to painfully claw at his shoulder blades, screaming in pain as the skin on the bone was ripped apart, protruding blood-covered white, but pure, wings. wide, bold, beautiful. at the shock and pain all in one bottle, the boy fell to the ground unconscious, his mind never resting, but his body slowly falling into slumber.

1202 words

___________
(a/n: ayee

new update woo go me

BTW THANK ALL OF YOU GUYS WHO ARE VOTING FOR THIS STORY I LOVE YOU ALL!!!

thanks so much for reading!

MUCH LUV,
~katxoxo