Death by Guilt

By: Saph Posted on: June 12, 2004

The rain fell heavy as Marcus walked through Merllion Avenue. The over cloak covered his entire body, only his face slightly visible under the hood. From within blue eyes stared out into the world with contempt. The wings under his cloak were slowly getting wet and he cursed them. Why did he have to be born Atavian?! He cursed his parents again and again for conceiving him. He could have even born a troll, enduring the simple minded life of such beasts, as they seemed to him. But this, this curse of flight, plagued him every waking second and chased him in his sleep. Even by Valnurana, plagued in his dreams by the Lady. To know that he could fly, to remember what it was to take to the airs and yet be chained back to the ground by the hate and racism people felt to him was too much for one person to take, he contemplated. In the cold of the night all he wanted to do was take to the air and soar above the city, escaping to the mountains, hiding away the mutation that scarred his body. Damn everything! He yelled in his own mind to no one in particular. Damn the Gods! Damn the humans! Damn the cities! Damn Creation! In his fury he let himself loose control and slowly the wings unfolded under the cloak. Finally they ripped through, blazing white in the lanterns that criss crossed the street. Immediately all eyes were drawn to him in the street. They held wonder and amazement and some even held respect but he didn't see it. He saw hate and contempt and racism, shinning on him like a thousand blazing torches in the night. He gave out a loud yell, drawing a gasp from many of the people there. "What are you all looking at?! Have you never seen a freak? Gaze upon me people of Sapience and revel in the monstrosity!" The gazes around him drained of all feelings, overtaken by fear of this raging Atavian. Quickly they resumed their steps and Marcus fell in weeping on the cobbled street. Why must I be condemned!? Have I done anything to offend the Logos? No I haven't! He thought to himself as he quickly got up and resumed his walking, limping slightly from the sadness and frustration, his wings now completely drenched. Then his gaze shot up at a tall tower that stood to his side. Shaking off the drops from his wings he took to flight and landed quickly on the top of the building. There, in the throes of his final resolve, he took out his knife, adorned with the symbol of Algiz. Slowly, as the knife tore through the feathers and muscles the rune turned black, shriveling under the horrid act.. Through the rhythmic motions of cutting the images of a little girl flashed through his mind. Her cheeks were blackened and she on her knees crying for help. Around her imps and kobolds were laughing brandishing spears and sword. In a cry of remembrance, Marcus fell to his knees, the knife still cutting nonetheless. He remembered brandishing his sword as he dove through the air cutting the imps down, working his way towards the girl. Finally he was there and he grabbed hold of her, flapping his wings quickly and taking to the air. The imps shouted after him but he was too far away for their bows. The child clung to him and cried. After hours of flight she had recovered and was laughing in the joy of flight. Marcus laughed with her and swept higher and higher, caught in the ecstasy of the joy only a small child could know. Faster and faster they dove through the skies until the wind was too strong for even the laughter to be heard. Then Marcus looked down underneath his arm and what he saw crippled him to his soul. The child was dead, her eyes opened but staring at nothing, tears staining her face, carving trails down the soot. In his haste and joy he had fretted too long and didn't notice the knife wound that scarred her chest. His feathers were stained in blood and he cried out as he fell to the ground. Back in on the top of the building, blood stained, one wing fell to the ground, spiraling down to the street and landing in a puddle turning the water red. Soon the other wing fell with it, joining it's sister. Now that his self mutilation was complete Marcus saw the hordes gathered there, looking up, unable to assist. Marcus laughed a laugh so bitter that it was more heart wrenching then any cry. Taking a few steps to the ledge he flung out his hands and jumped. In his final seconds before the ground took him he caught a man's eyes. In them was mirrored the look of the child's dead eyes. They weren't weeping but opened in respect and sadness at the marvelous creature that was now dying in such horror. Like the girl he was taking in the magical air that hummed around the him like she had taken in the wonder of the clouds before she died. They didn't hate me, I hated myself he thought just before he slammed besides his wings.

Silently, after the body had been piled into the city morgue, a tattoo in the shape of a bear hummed on the mutilated shoulder. It might be able to heal the physical wounds, no one in particular thought as the wings grew back, but the soul inside was damaged beyond and control. Consumed by it's own self guilt it felt it's own to itself reflected wrongly in the eyes of those around it not seeing the compassion and respect there. Just another causality of mortality now leaving Achaea to wonder through the world, looking for that small child he had let die, condemning him into needles hell.