Suffocating

Illusion; III

The dark, always so calming, never loud, never too loud that it made it flinch and want to hide.

It stepped on the edge, loosened its body, and let gravity pull it down under.

The natural beats of its heart ticked like a clock. Tick, tick, tick. Closer, closer, closer.

Close enough.

Its wings gave one loud, strong flap, a burst of air and energy surrounding it, spreading.

"The hell-?"

"Is that a fucking bird?!"

"The fuck is that?!"

It used its wings to glide down like a parachute. It had long since mastered how to use its wings. It used to be a burden, a confusion, a source of shame. Now, it was a shield and a sword and an opportunity like no other.

It turned, facing The Guilty.

"Holy shit- it's- it's a fucking zombie!"

"I don't give a living damn what the fuck it is!"

"Let's book it!"

Oh, but they couldn't leave. It wouldn't allow them to.

They were its new punching bags, after all.

It first lunged to the guiltiest of them all. Using its wings to propel itself, it grabbed The Guilty by the collar and pulled.

A large grin split in its face, watching the pathetic Guilty struggle to break free. Try, try, try. Try like trying made a difference.

It sent The Guilty into the concrete wall. One cry of pain, two cries of horror.

It didn't pause. It moved. Its fist drove into The Guilty's stomach. My, my. It didn't know someone of the male gender could produce such a disorienting, high-pitched sound. It laughed, a carefree laugh that stripped away the little sense of sanity it had.

The Guilty struggled for air. It gave another punch before any air could enter The Guilty's lungs. Then another punch, and another, and another. Hit, hit, hit. Let all of what boiled inside it out. Out, out, out.

It stopped when it sensed something disappointing; the flickering of The Guilty's soul. Oh, dying already?

Tsk. There were always others. Guilties, they swarmed this city, like bugs or roaches or other insects, waiting to be crushed and mangled.

It left the barely-breathing waste of a body, advancing to the rest.

It stopped when it saw weapons. A bat and a knife.

It grinned at the easy challenge. With a flap of one wing, it grabbed The Guilty's neck. The knife dropped easily. It sensed the other Guilty, the one with a bat, lurching an attack.

It shielded itself easily with its wings. It hurt, a lot, but the pain gave it fuel and rush, something many people took for granted.

It turned only to find the handle of the wooden bat, extending into splinters. The bat broke upon impact. And all of the fight left these weaklings, as did the color on their skin.

"P-please. We don't want any trouble."

Oh, but The Guilty did want trouble. They all signed their fate once they did what earned them that nickname. It was set in stone.

It could see it, the many things they did wrong, the few things they did right.

The one holding what used to be a bat... it loved stealing, even when it didn't need to. It gained satisfaction from when it got away with a crime. It made him feel invincible, as though it was more than who it truly was.