Demon in My View

Psalm III: The Scab

Psalm III: The Scab

He knew animals had once existed. Insects, fish, and other living creatures. He knew how they looked from the pictures he had seen in holograms and the occasional plushy sold behind store windows that weren't spray painted or patched with tape. He knew some of them flew, swam, or ran. Some of them also slithered.

Plants too. Those had also existed. Bouquets of color that changed, lived, and died with the seasons. Monstrous trees that grew with stretching branches, covered in things called bark and leaves. Grass was also something Miles knew once covered the ground instead of the endless concrete and asphalt that was plastered on the entire world.

Miles didn't care for the animals, but he did feel some attraction to the idea of living creatures that didn't talk or even had faces. Others did too and that was probably why flowers still existed. Rarities only found in the Upper District. Even Miles's extravagant salary couldn't buy him half a dozen of the painted petals without going hungry for a month.

He chuckled at the thought of buying something so useless.

The bar came in sight. Miles pulled up to it, and got out of the car. As soon as he did, the hovering vehicle settled onto the ground on hollow, white wheels. The bullet proof and anti-thief shield crawled over the car's body, entirely cocooned by the time Miles entered the building. His contact was seated by the bar, an empty stool next to her. He headed towards her, eyes on the dark and worn out wood on the floor, chairs, and tables. The seat he sat on, however, was steel.

"Serhum," he greeted her.

She nodded, not looking at him. Her hair was black and curly, as she said it would be. Behind her ear, as she also said it would be, was the small collection of baby's breath, her signature for that sole meeting. Miles had to look up the appearance of those flowers, but seeing them in person disappointed him. The hologram had been livelier.

"Miles," she said, her blurry grey eyes catching his.

He smirked. This woman was the only woman he held any respect for and probably the only woman he had met several times without fucking. Her name was known even to those in the Avid Eye, but not for the usual reasons. Serhum was a medicine woman, loosely speaking. Her narcotics were special made, the recipe only known to her which meant her quantities were rare and well sought after. And expensive.

"What narkotika do you wish of me today?" she asked.

"Ryod. What else, beautiful?" Miles smiled.

She waves a manicured hand at him. "Don't flirt with me. This is business."

He shrugged and got to the point. "Check out?"

"Half."

"Half? It was a quarter before."

"Before so many of you Blind decided you wanted more."

Miles scowled. Half a million was double what he had planned to spend. But he needed the drug. Ryod was what he took to keep fit and strong, muscular and cut, without spending his already limited time attending to his body. He could do half a million. He just rather wouldn't.

"Done," Miles said, knowing the agreed amount was already in her account.

Serhum nodded, removed the flowers from her hair, and crushed it in her hand. She placed the powder into a bag holding light blue pills and handed it to him. "Make sure to add a pinch of this to the water you drink when you take the pills."

Miles smiled. He knew that hadn't been real flowers in her hair. He accepted the bag with a nod.

"Miles!"

He looked up to the sound of his name to see Manuel walking towards him. He was dressed in his usual black. Miles glanced at Serhum to see she had left her seat and was heading towards the exit. She passed by Manuel and the Cleaner didn't bat an eye at her. He took her seat.

"Guess what the fuck I heard," Manuel said, leaning close to Miles.

The bartender came up to them, his presence asking what they wanted to drink.

"Double shot of tequila and don't forget the cut up lime," Manuel said.

Miles held up a finger. "Whiskey."

After their drinks had been served, Manuel huddled close to Miles again.

He pulled away. "Stop it with that gay shit."

Manuel took his shot without his chaser. "I don't want anyone else to hear."

"Then the fucking bar isn't the best place to say it."

"Exile."

Manuel held Miles's stare with serious eyes. They both knew what that word meant. It was something only those privy to what the Avid Eye did would know. Exile meant an angel was going to be sent to a Blind to die.

Miles felt the blood rush throughout his body, making his head fuzzy, his throat dry. "Frame?" he asked after swallowing whatever saliva he could muster.

"Only after one day," Manuel said, an amused smile on his face.

"One day?" Miles stared at his drink. Who would give up an angel after only one day with her?

"Broken glider."

He swallowed another forced gulp.

"Heard she was going to Ira. Poor fucking bitch."

Miles stood up, knocking the stool out from under him.

Manuel stared at him. He grinned. "You wanted to fuck her up, huh? Ira's been in the game longer than you. Exiles go to the oldest Blind member."

"I thought I was the oldest Blind member."

Manuel drank Miles's whiskey. "Nope. Ira's got you beat by a day."

Miles was in his car, pulling up into his driveway by the time his rage subdued. All this time. All this fucking time he had thought he was the Blind that Exiled. How many angels had he missed? What if he had already missed his?

Broken glider.

Something was wrong with this angel's wing.

A searing pain punctured his eye, a hot needle spearing through his optic nerves. The flesh on his arms scorched with the touch of a million suns. He heard the wet sound of feathers being pulled from flesh and blood dripping to the ground. The phantom pain and sensations left him as soon as it appeared.

The Exile was his angel.

His angel with an injured wing. Imperfect and Exiled after only a day of capture. Unwanted. But not to him. Miles wanted her. He wanted her since he had seen her pulling off her wings.

"Willful creature," she had called him while she hovered in the air, shadowed by the sun behind her. Her limbs appeared delicate, toes pointed and finger slim. Wavy hair swirled around her head like her long fallen halo. And her voice. Even though she had only spoken those two words to him, he could replay her vocals in his head without fail.

Miles threw his head back on the car seat, releasing a groan. He gripped the steering wheel, enjoying the twitch that rubbed his hard cock against his pants. He chuckled. It wasn't like him to get so aroused with only his thoughts as stimulation, but the concept of seeing his angel again tightened the pressure around his abdomen.

After he finished, Miles got out of the car and went to his white room where all his silver tools smiled at him. He didn't care about the Avid Eye or the Blinds and their fucking rules. Miles was going to find his angel, and he was going to have her.