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.