Slowly I make my way up the school staircase with my fake wings. They’re not nearly as heavy as one would think, even though they are quite large. When I placed my wings on before during practice, they stretched out to be nearly four of myself. I look down at the Wings in my arms as I continued to ascend the stairs.

After a few minutes I make my way to the top and open the door which takes me to the roof of the five story school building. This was the tallest building I’ve yet to experiment on when it came to my wings, and was by far the most dangerous. The first building I had tried was only one story with my first model of the wings, Cherub. The second building was three stories with my second model Angel.

Now I was standing on top of the third building with my third model, Seraphim. I walk over to the ledge and lean against the railing that reaches my hips, leaning over slightly to marvel the world below me. On the ground, about 100 yards across an empty parking lot took you to the school’s second field, that currently had mock-goal posts up. Those, I decided, were my goal.

Seraphim, I thought distantly in some corner of my mind, wasn’t quite the top of the food chain when speaking about angels.

I pull my hair over my left shoulder and pull the straps of the wings onto my shoulders. As soon as they were in place, the artificial nerves came alive and sunk themselves into my shoulder blades to where usually unused nerves lay dormant. I had taken a sharp intake of breath when they ripped in, and the air hissed out of me after I felt the connection complete.

I stand there on the inside of the gate, moving and flexing the wings almost experimentally as if to reawaken the man-made muscles of my green wings. After nearly a half hour of doing so, I sigh again and climb over the railing to the ledge on it’s other side. I hold the railing tightly with my right hand and I lean over the edge precariously.

Every secret I had kept from Artimes. Every little bit of research and change in design that I’ve had to hide. Every single time I had to lie to him about dropping the experiments and the studies. Everything that we’ve – me and my darker half – have done, has been building towards this leap.

As I continue to lean, Darker whispers about how furious and betrayed he would be with me. I sigh, disagreement was futile unless I wanted an argument with myself that I know I would loose.

I pull myself back to the railing and lean back onto it, knuckles grip tight the steel. I close my eyes and suck in a long, deep, quivering breath.

My first jump, from a second story building, was fearless and carefree – I ended up with a broken leg and one busted nerve in my lower back. That had been when Artimes told me to stop the research and designing. My second jump, from a third story building, was more thought out but still just as exciting – I broke both arms and legs, and ended up with a deflated lung and another damaged nerve, only this one in my shoulder. I kept everything quiet for a few weeks, but Artimes found out through Sabriel, who had only been trying to calm the anxious teen by telling him that I was fine at the hospital and that they were treating me good. Artimes was furious and screamed at me for a good hour and a half, then left without another word, and didn’t speak to me for weeks.

This jump, though….. I could feel fear and uncertaincy rising like bile. This was the first time in many, many long years, bringing a certain rush of anxiety with it.

My eyes snap open with a bold and determined stare to the horizon, to the football field goal. This went well – even if the ending didn’t follow through as planned - there was hope yet for my wings.

I exhale and jump. Just as it was suppose to, the nerve commands from my mind are received completely and perfectly. The wings beat against the wind and air, holding me up. After a long while, I begin to alternate between gliding and flapping. Soon I leave it with a glide.

After I start descending, I try to flap my wings again when my worst fear is realized - the nerve connection died on me again. I look back at the building to see that I’m at about two stories height. I start sending signals to the wings in a panic, desperate for them to work for me…

"GABRIEL!"

Artimes?!

I angle my face and I can see Xander’s motorbike screeching to a halt at the end of the parking lot, then Artimes jump off all in one near-fluid motion. Xander’s ripping her black-tinted goggles onto the top of her head and gets off the bike, then starts searching her jacket and jean pockets.

Artimes stumbles some after the leap, but starts to run faster than even Leon has on a good day. Soon he’s below me, and I’m about a story above him still. He continues to run under me until he has to run beside me, which is when he jumps up some and pulls me close to him and I hold tight. I mutter, “I’m so sorry I lied..” and only seconds later we crash into the ground, Artimes’ shoulder taking the blunt of the initial hit with a smashing noise.

We smash, flip, bounce, and tumble into a slow roll before we stop. Coughing, he pushes himself up enough to rear back his arm and slug it into my face. It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as everything else does, but the emotional pain is still conveyed.

He coughs some more and pushes himself off of me, laying on his stomach. Out of the corner of my eye I can see that he’s bloody and battered, the white sticking out from beneath the dark red and torn clothes tells me just how bad this really is. I cough some, and a copper taste rises. That’s all I need to know that I am just as bad.

I turn my head and see he’s looking at me. “I’m sorry, ‘Mes… But, I flew, I really flew…” I see him roll his eyes and smile some before grimacing in pain. I frown slightly, and look up a bit to see Xander running over with a phone held to her ear. She drops to her knees next to Artimes and I see her face pulled tight as she relays our location to people on the other line who were probably the paramedics.

I move my arm over, despite the pain, and it rests barely touching Artimes’ own hand. He smiles slightly, his eyes going between focused and unfocused. My own vision starts to spun and blur, and Xander notices finally that we’re going unconscious. She starts shouting to stay awake, but its as if someone has their hands over my ears. I see flashing red behind her, and a man in white kneels next to her and they talk. Her and my eyes never broke contact.

Stretchers are being brought over by more people in white, they start to tie tourniquets around both me and Artimes. They sit me up and cut nearly all of the wings off of my back, then I’m lifted carefully – but oh, how it hurts – onto a stretcher, Artimes as well. They’re pushing me over to the ambulance and then lifted into it. I look out the window and see the world speeding by. They’re asking questions and doing quick checks, placing an air mask over my mouth.

Out the window, I can see the hospital as we slow to a stop in front of it. I’m taken back out of the ambulance and I’m rushed inside. Once inside, faces of people in white are leaning over me, looking at me and each other, talking between themselves and those who helped me first.

I try to say something, but they don’t hear me or notice. I lift my arm and they watch with shock and horror as I pull the air mask off of my face. “Artimes….Where..?” My lungs burn at the effort it takes to breathe. The doctors are saying something, but I can’t hear them still. “Can’t…….Sound….” They look anxiously to each other as they replace my mask. I continue to ask for Artimes.

They turn a corner, and I see a red sign above me as we enter the room. They replace my mask with another one, and soon I’m asleep.