Song, Wing, and Blood

Chapter 1

I would be lying to you if I told you I still have my humanity.  But humans are renown for their imagination.  Pretend I am human if you please.

I give Drakir props, really.  He is one of the few who looked me in the face and held my gaze.  A brave boy, even as a child.  I speak of the time I first met Drakir.

I came for the souls of his parents and his unborn sister on his third birthday.  I watched the joy in their faces that day, the delight in their child.  I watched the cake in all its messy, homemade glory. 

I quite miss eating cake.

The icing was sloppily done, the white barely covering the chocolate interior.  There was a massive dent in the cake, from which the birthday boy ate before his mother could scold him.  It hardly looked like a cake, but I envied the cake.

No one fears cake.

Let me ammend that statement.  No one who is sane fears cake. 

I watched as Drakir's father lit the candles.  I watched Drakir try to blow out the candles with little success. 

They laughed and eventually each of the seven candles gave of wisps of smoke, like miniature spectors rising to haunt.  I saw with my own eyes how the flame were extinguished.  They continued to savor the cake, chewing, licking off mustaches of frosting.  They must have been in poverty, as little Drakir received a single present.

It was a stuffed toy.  A phoenix, to be precise.  I gazed on as he zoomed around the little house, singing a strange tune with the toy in tow. 

It is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen.

There was no bitterness, no greed for more toys.  These people lived in shambles, yet they were perfectly content. 

Drakir and his parents went to bed, turning off all lights. 

No one knew of the discarded match, smoldering like it had a life of its own.  Perhaps it did.

I watched the orange glow grow to envelop the house with harsh heat.  I am helpless.  I could only stand and watch the house burn to cinders.  Only Drakir made it out alive.

With a heavy heart, I took the souls of his mother, father, and baby sister.  I delivered them to where they needed to go, doing the job I have done for as long as I can remember.   Drakir had no bodies to bury; they went up in smoke.

But before I left the scene, Drakir looked me in the eye with such desolation and anguish, I could not help but brush a hand past his soot-darkened hair.  Looking back, I realize with guilt that I may have caused his mental instability.  My touch passed through him like air, so all he felt was a brush of wind.

There was a cat with him.  She wasn't an ordinary cat, though. I knew her.  I nodded my head to her, and she returned the gesture of courtesy.  She was good for Drakir.

Inspire him.  Hone his talent, and one day, maybe he will be able to push past the sorrow.  My thoughts shouted to her, and the kitten yawned in amusement.

I stayed too long.  Already I heard more sickening violence.  I had to continue with my vile job.

I really do envy cake, how pathetic is that?