Angel's Feather

Part I - Ascent-2

I felt his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me to his chest. If it weren’t for how my brain worked, how my senses helped record and file everything, or for how dark and gloomy my dreams were, I would have sworn I was sleeping. As undeniable realization hit me, I melted in Michael’s arms, my face soaking the cool caress of his chest. His large wings tightened around me, the feathers brushing all the tears and anger away. They looked metallic from afar, strong enough to shield the flyer from any weapon, yet they were so soft against my skin, I just had to sigh and close my eyes, basking in the new sensations.

“I wish they were all like you,” he whispered in my hair, the warmth of his breath making me tingle all over.

I wish you were mine. I might have been startled out of my mind by his actions, overwhelmed like I’d never been before, but I still knew that was a thought better left unsaid. Michael was a flyer, they did not belong with us humans. Suddenly choking with shame and a sensation of filth, of being tainted, I pushed myself away from Michael and turned to leave.

“Thank you, Adam,” he said. He grabbed my shoulder, stopping my retreat and I shuddered under his strong touch. “Thank you for speaking your mind today.”

“You have nothing to thank me for. I do that all the time.” I shook his hand off, succumbing to the utter disgust with myself that was flooding my mind and ran back to my decrepit garage, hoping that damned old tractor would make me feel better. If I worked on it, helped the village, maybe I’d forget how dirty and twisted I was to want a flyer like that.

No, this time I wouldn’t go home tired and restless. I wouldn’t lock myself in my room without having anything for dinner. I wouldn’t take a cold shower in hopes of calming my raging hormones. I wouldn’t then bite into my pillow as I’d furiously masturbate, images of Michael’s muscular torso and his golden skin plaguing my mind. I wouldn’t fantasize about his deep blue eyes pinning me down while his full lips would devour me. I wouldn’t almost feel his dark, curly locks of hair brushing my skin as he’d kiss me all over.

I had the largest collection of digital movies and TV shows on the planet. I’d been collecting them since I was barely able to speak properly. They’d stopped making them a while before the Fall, but somehow they’d survived. It was probably because humans had just locked down libraries, not impressed with their old technology, or their data banks. The one thing I remembered from those movies was that extremely smart men were not driven by their hormones. They wouldn’t turn into a pile of need when they’d see someone they found attractive. They were all cool and collected and borderline asexual. Maybe I wasn’t as smart as I’d always thought. Maybe I only had an accurate memory, perfect recall. Or maybe I’d just watched the wrong movies.

I wished like hell I’d been more like those characters. Or at least want someone closer to my level. Another human, perhaps? Michael was as untouchable as the fake angels in our religious books. He came, he punished, he left. Worse, none of the flyers had ever taken a human lover. I doubted they’d even have a romp in the hay with any of us. Why soil themselves with the lowest of the universe’s dwellers?

Was Michael with any of the other flyers? Maybe as I fantasized about him, he’d enact everything I only dreamed of with one of the others of his species. Maybe he’d also noticed how I reacted to him every time and he’d laugh about it, regaling his lover with what I imagined was a warm, deep laughter that I’d only caught a glimpse of.

I sighed and dropped the tools, it was pointless to even try. My mind saw nothing but Michael right now. Going home to help Mother with dinner would be a far better use of my time. Then I’d help her clean, maybe clean the whole house myself. Then stay up all night reading about engines, tractors, and mechanics. I needed more information to fix this damned metal beast.

I left the garage and started my winding walk home. The houses in the village were made of what scraps had been saved from the destroyed megalopolises of the past. We used wind and solar energy to power everything. The machines we used to cook and clean and wash were still functional, we’d gotten really good at fixing them and keeping them going. I chuckled, thinking of how we’d had to reshape what had been built for quick replacement. Somewhere in our past, our main concern had been to get the newer, shinier toy.

We had a team of villagers that went to search through the ruins of the lost cities and brought back whatever stood a chance of being reused. The chemicals and nuclear residue had cleared in the centuries since Earth’s demise, with what I suspect was some under the table help from other species, that they’d never admit to if asked. The cities still weren’t safe to live in, as the species too soft to let us fend for ourselves had only focused on areas where survivors had banded together. Those who’d made it out alive had run as far as possible from the megacities of our warring civilization.

The brutal truth was our technology was failing, food was hard to come by, the weather was a total mess, and other than natural remedies, we had almost no medicine. The ironic part of it was we had the brains and manpower to rebuild, but no one did anything about it. Most of us had one thing on our mind: break free. People lived and died for it, even if this prison of ours had been built to protect us as much as to keep us locked in. There were very few species throughout our vast universe that did not want us extinct and rightfully so.

By the time I made it home, my thoughts of Michael had calmed down some. There was nothing more sobering than a walk through the village. There were a few hundred families in our village. It was actually a small town, but we preferred the term village, it gave us a sense of closeness, of belonging. The scrawny kids, the dirty houses, the famished dwellers, it all painted a bleak picture that yanked everything pleasurable right out of your soul.

I heard the sobs the moment I opened the door. I froze where I stood, hectic thoughts of my mother’s distress paralyzing me and making my breath come out in hitches.

“There, there, Marianne. Try and drink your tea, it will help you relax.” Mother’s soothing voice took all my worries away. It wasn’t my mom who was crying, it was my aunt.

“But he’s going to be caught and killed,” Aunt Marianne wailed.

“Why now? Fred has never taken an active role in the Freedom Alliance. Isn’t it enough my husband was executed?” Mom asked in a trembling voice.

I groaned and closed my eyes, leaning into the doorframe for support.

“They asked him again. They think his brother shared his knowledge with him.”

Mom’s voice went an octave higher. “That never happened though. We both know that.”

“Yes, but Morrigan’s widow took up arms, even though she’s lost everyone but her daughter. He said he couldn’t be less courageous than a woman.”

Marianne’s sobs turned louder and my mom tried to soothe her, but by the sound of it she was failing. The sharp shrill of the old-fashioned tea pot my father had rescued from a torn down museum interrupted her soft whispers.

“Let me make us a fresh cup of tea, I’ll add some Valerian root to this one,” my mother said. The soft rattle of cups and plates being moved about seemed to quiet my aunt, so I took it as a good sign to make my entrance.

“Good evening, Auntie. Hello Mother,” I said meekly.

“Adam,” Mom said and turned, greeting me with her warmest smile.

“You brat! What did you do?” Marianne shouted, standing abruptly and charging. She raised her hand and I caught it on instinct.

“I believe Uncle did enough of that today. He had a flyer making him stop. How about we consider that enough beating for today?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but a little bitterness still seeped through.

“You and those damned beasts whose boots you insist on licking,” she hissed, her eyes burning with rage.

“Marianne,” Mother called sternly. It was the voice she used when scolding me. Even now, in my mid-twenties, it still made me drop my eyes to the ground and fuss awkwardly.

“It’s his fault, Julia!” Auntie turned, yanking her arm from my grip. She turned to face my mother, her shoulders shaking. “The whole village talks about how your son worships the monsters who killed his father. They all look funny at us, it’s why Fred had to accept.”

I rolled my eyes, but bit my tongue. Saying what I believed would only make it worse. The Freedom Alliance was a safe place for my uncle to spew his hatred of flyers and be praised for it. A bully, he was, but like most of them, he’d always been a coward. He’d let my father lead the local branch while he did nothing that would earn him an execution. Being part of the Alliance was not against the rules, but trying to build them a ship to fly us into the endless skies was. For years he’d been urging everyone to defy the angels, while he hid comfortably in the shadows. I was convinced it had been his anger and hatred after the day’s incidents that had made him speak louder and thus painted himself into a corner.

“Marianne, you are my sister-in-law and I love you as my own flesh and blood. But if you don’t stop talking like that about my son, I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Sure, defend him! He’d dance over our dead bodies if he could,” Marianne said, turning to glare at me over her shoulder. “Evil little bastard.”

“Get out, now.” My mother’s voice was quiet and steady, her face void of any expression. I knew from experience there was no going back when she got like this.

“Julia, you can’t possibly choose him over everyone, he does not deserve it.”

“Marianne, I’ve never judged you for allowing your husband to beat you and rough up your children. I’d hoped you’d show the same courtesy. Clearly, you cannot. So, please, go. Go before everything is broken.”

Auntie nodded and left, mumbling something under her breath. I did not catch what it was, but I could have guessed she was cursing me or something equally as vile. I was the root of all evils in this family, after all.

Mother looked at me and gave me an apologetic smile.

“Should I be ashamed, Mother? I’m not, but should I?”

She sighed and returned to her cups. She finished preparing the tea and brought the two mismatched containers to the table. She pulled a chair and sat, moaning at the pain in her bones that she had to endure every time she moved, and patted the chair next to her. I sat down quietly, my eyes searching hers for some form of absolution.

“Darling, do you remember what your great-grandmother did back when we still had schools?”

I nodded, remembering all her stories since her time homeschooling me. “She was a history teacher.”

“That she was, and she took great pride in teaching all the little scoundrels in this village about our past.”

I shrugged and looked away, not knowing where she was going with all this talk of a dead relative. I’d never met her, she had died years before I was born.

“I was her favorite student. Not because I was the brightest, but because she lived with my parents and me and I couldn’t get away. I know of our mistakes, of how we brought all this upon ourselves. We’ve had more chances than all the species in the universe put together and we’ve messed up each and every one.”

I felt her warm hand cupping the cheek that was surely bruised by now and although it stung a little, I leaned into her touch. I closed my eyes, remembering vividly all the times in my life when she’d been the only solace.