Spreading Wings

Spreading Wings - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

     “See ya!” Eti skipped down the street, her pink backpack clashing with the brown dreary apartments that took up the bulk of this street.

    I waved at her from the steps, then went inside and accidentally slammed the door hard, causing the whole building to shake. This whole place is falling apart.

    “I'm home!” I yelled to nobody as I threw my bag on the ground, which landed with a satisfied thunk. It had been mine for only a year, and it was already riddled with holes.

    “Arella, that backpack is expensive.” My mom walked out of the kitchen, holding her book. Mom's always reading. She looked at me sternly with her blue eyes, exactly the shade of mine. “I can’t buy you another backpack for a few more years. Why can’t you keep your belongings in good condition?”

    “Like I care about my backpack.” I slumped onto the couch, exhausted from school. The couch creaked.

    “Malaika! Pick up Arella's bag and give her a glass of milk.” My mom walked away, clearly fed up with me. Good.

    Malaika entered from the kitchen, slow and shy. She walked over and picked up my backpack gingerly, as if it were the world.

    I took a good look at Malaika. She could be pretty, with her long jet-black hair, purple eyes, tan skin, delicate features. And here wings were in decent condition – pure white, with a span of 6 feet fully extended, give or take a few inches.

    But the fact that she was a slave made it impossible for her to be decent. Pretty? Not in her vocabulary. Malaiaka’s hair was tangled and caked with mud, her eyes had dark circles under them, and her limbs looked so thin and bony, you’d think she’d collapse on the spot.

    And oh man, did she stink! Malaika reeked of garbage and mud. How had I not noticed this before? Hopefully I didn’t smell as bad as she did. But that didn’t matter – what mattered is that her hands had touched countless things, like garbage. And now she was touching my backpack.

    Ewww.

    I cleared my throat. Malaika looked up immediately, her eyes wide.

    How was I going to phrase this?

    “M-Malaika?” I whispered tentatively.

    She looked at me with curiosity written all over her face. When I say I can’t get along with anyone, I mean anyone. There would've been no reason for me to talk to her.

    “Um...well, you could use a quick bath.” I spoke quietly, finding sudden interest in my hair.

    Malaika gasped, dropping my backpack. “You want me to-” she slapped her mouth, alarm growing in her eyes.

    2 things: First, slaves are generally not allowed to talk to their masters. If they do, the owners can accuse them of insulting, talking back, lying, etc., which results in whipping for the slave. Not exactly fair, but slaves aren’t supposed to have the same rights we have. Personally, I don't care about rules, unlike Eti, who knows every rule by heart.

    Second, slaves never take baths.

    “Um…yeah. Take a bath. Please.” I emphasized. I was mustering all my courage to not gag or plug my nose. And to think I lived with her!

    Malaika just stood there, staring at me. I hated when people did this – it just made me more unnerved. Maybe it was my long blond hair, my eyes, my lack of height. But I hated attention.