She's too old for this.
Three see-through packages lined up against the wall, stamped on labels, AVI BEN DAVID, ALEXIS WINTERS, MARY ADAMS. Their white glow illuminating a hundred and sixty-eight faces, three of them on them on the wrong side of the glass.
Well, two of them. Julius sits in the corner of the metal freezer, back pressed up against the wall that's separating them from the bombs outside. Head ducked, wings blanketing him, he mutters quiet words to himself, "faces," "bodies," "angel wings" and the almost missed "mother."
Skye is sitting with a clipboard clutched to her chest, empty eyes and open mouth. "Reuben." She says, a quiet whisper, a muffled boom behind her words. Her finger hover over a face with three eyes, no teeth and black spores.
Before him, it was "Felicity." Another faceless, wingless Angel, missing arms and five toes. "Amber," was the one with the human condition, cancer, sped up to span over a few seconds. "Zack," with a malfunctioning protein that left him deaf, blind and paralyzed.
Asher might be able to recognize a couple of them, too. But he refuses to look, sitting with his forehead to the glass, eyes stuck on his lap, silent tears and trembling shoulders.
Lelena sighs and looks away from the world she's created.
She's too old for this.
YOU ARE READING
Angel Wings
ParanormalSometimes, you just have to choose. Humans or mythical freaks. (This isn't what failing is supposed to mean.)
