Chapter 1

“When your old enough to drink legally, then you’ll have a say in this house, till then, wash your hands and do as your told.” My mother complained, drying her hands on a kitchen towel, the boneless chicken in heaps next to her on a red plastic tray.
To retort would be to consider being kicked out of a warm bed an option.
So I gnashed my teeth and clutched my book tightly to my side.
Turning 18 wasn’t different than any other birthday, just a year closer to death. Woot.
I passed the family room where my dad watched soccer in his boxers and a bottle of beer in one hand and a remote control in the other, his focus deep. I passed the bathroom with red walls and the strawberries and cream air freshener and turned away from the empty living room, inhabited only by things we were too lazy to take upstairs. The piano and it’s bench ill colored by the amount of sun rays imposed on it by the number of years.
My gnashing slowed as I took a step at a time to the second floor, avoiding the eyes of each photograph I passed by. The number of family members I would never see alive again or the ones I wished were, gave the walls of the stair way a hostile fog, the metal chandelier at the top, illuminating by only three unbroken bulbs in the shape of candles.
Turning at the hallway, I could hear my brother playing with the computer and playing Weird Al songs. Probably having the T.V. on as well, I could catch a distant melody.
I passed the upstairs bathroom and closet, reaching my door which was next to his.
I grasped the brass knob and turned it while pushing in with my shoulder, greeting the single ray of light that managed to escape my curtains and the cool air my ceiling fan produced.
I turned on my computer, and dropped the paperback that curved with thoroughly thumbed pages on the chair before it. Kicking of my shoes, I tucked my feet in black slippers with silver stars and gold crescent moons. I needed some sleep.
I needed to rest my head.
I sitting on the bed, I took off my watch and earrings, laying back inches away from hitting myself with the pink wall I wasn’t allowed to change.
I rubbed my eyes and turning to my side to pull on the blankets, smoothing sharp jabs my arm.
I sit up and search the bed for what the menace was.
After carefully running my fingers over the sheets, I pulled it out.
A pin, the shape of a bird carved on a silver brooch, had been what pricked me and I lay back down studying the pin. I didn’t own such a pin. And as far as I knew, no one in the house owned the pin. Waves of yawns overtook me and clutched the safely closed pin in my hand, I fell asleep at an angle across my bed.

I awoke when something was prying my fingers. The sun had gone and the moon barely lit the world. Adjusting to the dark, I tugged back my hand and whatever had been prying it growled.
I stiffened, waiting for movement or an attack.
I heard nothing but soon saw a silhouette against the wardrobe on my opposite wall. I blinked at it’s shape. The height of a basket ball player and the width of a statue, the things had two large wings trembling with an imaginary wind.
I tightened my hold on the pin which I had forgotten was in my grasp, and fully climbed my bed, pressing against the wall. A raspy voice tore the fearful silence.
“Please, just give it back!”
I looked at my hand and then up at the darkness, “W-what?”
“I do not wish to hurt you, give it back!”
“Y-you want the pin?” I held out my hand.
In the dim light, I saw a claw like fingers reach and I yelped, pulling my hand back to my chest. “What are you?”
“Please…just give it to me.” It breathed harshly, as if in pain.
My mind reeled. Adjusting my position, my free hand searched for a book light.
“Please,” It tried again.
My hand caught the clip of the light and with a quick switch, I held it up, shining its little bulb at it.
My arm shook with surprise and I inched to the wall again.
The base of a man, he had blue patches of skin running along him like moss. He wore green armor that seemed to once upon a time have been like metal. His hair was wild, tangled and in locks jumbled with leaves and twigs. His wings were almost twice his height and they were such shades of grey that they curved into the darkness.
His jaw was angular and cracked with gashes and mud. His eyes were a complete layer of black liquid. His brows sewn with despair, he held out his hand again, cloth wrapped around fingers and wrists in bandage, burgundy stains and yellow of old, reeking no putrid smell.
“Promise to return tomorrow in the day.” I managed bravely.
He seemed to have hesitated, but the desperation won him over, reaching out again, I dropped it into his curling hand.
Bowing slightly with his head, his wings spread and in seconds wrapped around him till he disappeared and then so did the wings themselves.
I turned off the book light and tucked it under my pillow, kicking off my slippers and crawling under the covers. I had so many questions.
Was it a dream?
Tommorow I would find out.
Tommorow I would…