Nephilim Children

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I could barely sleep that night. The itchiness did not stop, but instead grew until it took over my entire abdomen, front and back. I had bathed myself in itch free cream, but it didn’t do anything. Scratching seemed to anger it more. So eventually I just gave up and let thoughts of sleep and relaxation drift over me. And, eventually, I drifted into a light sleep.

 

When I woke, the sun was low in the sky, and clouds clung weakly to the horizon. My back was itch free, finally, but my stomach growled. Then I realised with a jolt what day it was. My birthday!, I thought excitedly. I loved my birthdays; I always got the day off school, and every year I had a party. My birthday was always my day, a day I could do anything, be anybody. So I walked out of my room, my head held high. The cupboard in the kitchen always had some flavour pancake mix, so I went and got the chocolate one out- my favourite. I decided my mum would love it if I cooked my own birthday breakfast, so I got everything out and tried to be quiet as I prepared everything. I only noticed my shirt felt very short after I had a tall stack of hot pancakes. On impulse I walked to the bathroom to find out what the problem was.

My shirt was the same size, so I thought maybe it was the lumps that had grown overnight; perhaps that’s why they were so itchy. I flicked the light on in the bathroom. My back did look strange and puffy. I knew I had to see how big they were, so I lifted my shirt up at the back again.

And they sprang backwards, like arrows from a bow. They were soft and looked wet, yet they felt very stiff. They were- it was hard to come to terms with the word- wings. Big, red-speckled wings. My blood had dried into them, but the feathers themselves were still wet. My knees buckled underneath me, and I fell forward, nearly striking my face on the bathroom sink. In the mirror I watched them slowly unfold from my back- they were beautiful, they were terrible. When they were fully stretched out, and I could tell they were from the slight pulling of muscles in my back, they each spanned about one and a half metres across. I stared at them, not knowing what to do with them, wondering if I had any control over them. I willed them to move forwards, and, to my utter horror, they did, and they knocked over everything that was on the bathroom sink. I froze, waiting for the tell-tale signs of my mother waking up- a grumpy mutter, sheets being flipped off, and the groaning protest of springs as she pulled her body up and off the mattress. I heard none. So, slowly, ever so slowly, I instructed my monstrosities to pull themselves back in, to fold against my back. They did, tighter than I would have thought, too. When I pulled my shirt back over them they almost didn’t seem to be there. Nevertheless I went into my room, creeping down the hallway, and selected the puffiest blouse I had from my wardrobe and the whitest tank top from my drawers. I also removed a light, airy dark purple skirt too- a rarity. I pulled the tank top over my torso first- it would help keep everything close and also help hide any textured look. Then, after I had out the rest of my clothes on, I went to my dresser to view myself in the mirror. My back looked normal, with no unexpected bulges. So then I dusted my eyelids lightly with plum coloured eye shadow, and painted my lips with gloss of the same colour. My hair was the only thing left then, so I decided I would straighten the top of it, and keep the ends curly, then put it all in a ponytail.

I walked into the bathroom and nearly slipped on a bloodied feather. I thought, Well, I guess it was a good thing I’m doing something different with my hair, had I not come in here mum would have found this. So I cleaned up all the feathers and the floor- which was also red-speckled and slippery- and threw all the evidence in the bin. It would be gone soon, and hopefully by then I would be rid of my wing-shaped growths.