ï»¿ The wings beating by his side made him feel that he belonged.
As he stared down where the specks of human life paved their own way from the rest he stood above them, observing. For he was no longer part of that. Some small fragment of his previous soul yearned for the days of fighting through the crowd to make your way; trapping yourself in a private bubble that none could break through; working for a meaningless cause and being unaware of the world above.
When he had first been introduced to the other side of city life, he had struggled to adapt. Trying to move between the two lives he stumbled and fell, but again and again he picked himself up to try once more and juggle with the only life he had ever known and the new life he never wanted to know.
At times like these, as he looked down on the ordinary people, a deep longing to change his past would surface within his thoughts. What would have happened had he not been so curious? Would he still be here? Or was fate so cruel that nothing he could have done would matter in the end?
The wings beating by his side made him feel that he belonged to something.
He was no angel. When he had received the "gift" it was with the knowledge that he was no divine being. The hours of inserting the wings had not been without pain, and the promises of it all being worth it still echoed through the man's head. These wings were not worth it. These wings created a barrier so strong that he was unable to be seen by human eyes. Human eyes! Before he had never called himself human! The man was himself and no other. Now he was forced to accept that the specks of life were different to him.
"There you go, thinking about stuff that'll make you fall." The man sighed, then leapt off the building, spreading his wings as he did so. In one fluid movement he was sailing through the expanse of white carpet, unable to feel the water vapour as he would have were he made of flesh and bone. The thought tired the man and he was forced to land on the top of another building.
The wings beating by his side made him feel that he belonged to something he hated.
Three months earlier...
Lyndon snapped back to reality as he realised he was in danger of spilling his coffee. His previously misted almond eyes became focused as he registered his surroundings. He was sitting in his office cubicle, and by the sounds of things he was the only one there.
"Just great." Lyndon stood up and glanced round to be sure, then gave a groan and sat back down on his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair - which was in desperate need of a cut as it was growing over his eyes - and started rummaging around his desk in order to give the pretence that he was doing something. Despite the fact that no-one else was there, Lyndon always felt guilty if he wasn't using his time to the fullest, even though he enjoyed nothing more that lounging around and watching mindless programmes. This was one of the main reasons Lyndon didn't have many friends, though it was more than that: the man was very self-conscious and was more comfortable being by himself than with others.
Lyndon jolted in his seat as he was brought back to reality once again. He turned off his computer and walked steadily out of the door, wanting nothing more than to get home.
Lyndon didn't mind the arduous walk back to his flat. He was tall and skinny enough that most people walked out of his way, and those who didn't he could squeeze past. However on this day he seemed to have been daydreaming longer than normal, for there was hardly anyone out on the streets. Lyndon didn't mind, merely humming quietly to himself as he made his way slowly home. On this night he didn't feel that he was in a rush and so would stop from time to time just to admire the industrial jungle he found himself in. It was on one of these occasions that Lyndon discovered two people fighting in an alley. Normally he would have left them alone, but what made him stop and blink was that the two people in question had wings.
The wings weren't what Lyndon had always imagined them to be. While the stereotypical view of them was white and fluffy, the wings he saw were a dull grey and looked frayed. The two fighters were doing their best to keep the battle between them in a confined area. Lyndon watched, his mouth open ever so slightly as he saw the two flying up a short distance into the air before being brought down by the other. Lyndon let out an involuntary gasp as one of them performed a particularly dangerous aerial attack. The two "angels" stopped and turned to face him. Lyndon suddenly blanched with fear, but before he could get anywhere, he felt an infinite amount of pain coursing from all parts of his body before he collapsed.