Flight For Freedom

Chapter Four - 56 Somerley Street

12th November 2015

The persistent beeping of an alarm invades my dreams and my eyes snap open. I groan loudly and pull the duvet over my face. Rubbing my eyes vigorously, I toy with the idea of sleeping in, before remembering my responsibilities and throwing back the duvet. I climb down the ladder leading down from my bed and wince as I hit my bruised wing against the bed's wooden frame.

"It's time to get up, sleepy head." I say softly, gently shaking my sister's shoulders.

"I don't wanna" Zoe mumbles.

"Well, you've already had a slight lay in - it's half-past-six." I reply whilst switching off the alarm. Reluctantly, a small, rosy face appears from underneath the duvet and yawns loudly. Zoe pushes back the duvet and in a whirlwind of white frills and red hair, practically bounces out of the bedroom to raid the kitchen. I shake my head, before following suit (well, without the bouncing) and search the cupboards for something to eat.

After managing to force myself to eat a slice of toast and a cereal bar, I quickly shower, put on some makeup, wake up my mother and then wander back into the bedroom to get dressed. Whilst getting dressed, I notice how small my school jumper is around the wing area and as if on cue, I move my wings into a more comfortable position and some of the stitching that holds together the wing-slits splits slightly. I grit my teeth in frustration. I must be having another growth spurt. Although I know it is beyond my control, I can't help feeling guilty - I know that more money that we do not have is bound to be spent on new clothes.

I saunter over to the bedroom window and peer out. The usual smog hangs above towering skyscrapers and I can smell the distinct stench of car fumes through the thin glass. The city was once beautiful, but it has been subject to many riots in the past ten years, as people have slowly regressed into their ancestor's hatred towards my race. As my breath fogs up the grimy glass, I reflect upon the true monstrosity that is man. We may be considered the most advanced species of the Animal Kingdom but the truth is, we really aren't. Our reckless behaviour and lack of care is slowly killing everything and everyone. We lead a legacy of brutality, until one day that legacy will be destroyed, alongside everything that lives upon this planet. Now tell me, how can we really be advanced when we are the ones who are destined to annihilate the very land we stand on?

-

After ensuring that my sister safely gets onto the primary school bus outside our block of flats, I begin walking to my own school with apprehension gnawing at my gut. As I walk through the large school gates, I spot my friends sitting on the wall that surrounds a large weathered oak tree in the middle of the school drive. I run (well, more like ungracefully trot) up to them, my heavy bag bouncing uncomfortably against my hip and I wish for the umpteenth time that I had a separate bag for my flying kit.

"Hi" I say, surprised at how squeaky my voice sounds. I hope the others don't notice the nervous energy that is now consuming me. They all mutter a deflated "hey" before becoming deeply occupied with some kind of action such as staring intently into a planner or retying shoe laces.

"I still can't believe that this is really happening, it just seems so... extreme. A couple of days ago my biggest worry was getting my homework in on time and now I'm having to accept that my whole race could possibly be treated as slaves, or even worse, wiped out entirely." Xela whispers, receiving four muttered agreements. I notice dark circles underneath her beautiful dark brown eyes and assume that her night was just as rough as my own. I had managed a mere hour of sleep and every one of my six limbs aches. Another awkward silence settles amongst the group and I frantically wrack my brains for something to say to break the silence. Orla beats me to it,