Consequences of Disobedience

Untitled Part 1

I love peeks. The people are nice. The air is clean. The cities gleam in the most beautiful fashion, but it's my prison. While every other Messenger of Death gets to travel outside the realm, I' not allowed to leave. Lord Death and my father, the Angel Michael, have seen to it that my every move is watched.

The first time I left, two Arks from the House of War intercepted me ten minutes out and drugs me back. I spent the next month locked in my room. The second time wasn't much better, except Lord Death had me placed under the care of our Royal Torturer for three miserable hours. The third time the torture lasted four hours. The fourth was five hours. The fifth was six and the sixth was an entire day. That last one nearly killed me.

Punishment was ineffective. They had to come up with something else. It was decided that with the accompaniment of dad or Lord Death I could travel to Middle Ground. I was first allowed several trips a week, but that gradually decreased. Now I'm lucky if I get to leave Peeks once a month. They're busy and they don't trust anybody else to look after me.

It's not enough. I feel trapped again, but not for long. I've decided to make my seventh unauthorized trip. Screw the punishments. I'm happy to die for a chance to fly free. This time will be different. All other attempts were made during the day. This time, my black cladded self will meld to the shadows of the night.

At the haunting hour, when everyone should be asleep, I grab my pre-prepared bag—it holds some clothes, toiletries, and my photo album. The album is the most precious thing in the world to me. The best pictures are with me and dad. Sure, living as a prince with Lord Death is awesome, but more than anything, I want to live in heaven with dad.

Anyway, I open my floor-to-ceiling, tenth story, looking over a 1000 foot cliff window, spread my wings and fall forward, letting the wind catch beneath me.

I know the moment I cross the border. The air turns acidic and the clouds soak me through. It's wonderful. I haven't flown in Middle Ground in weeks. The freedom is fantastic!

The heavy thud of adult wings alerts me to the guards. I smirk. They can't catch what they can't see. I take to the shadows, taking great care to silence the beat of my own wings. I spend two hours in the shadow before I'm certain that they have given up on me.

Below me is the city of Manhattan. It's alive, even for this time of night. I take my time to circle the buildings—to let the feel of the human world wash over me. Then I move toward the water, where the light of a full moon reflects. It's one of those moments you never want to end . . . but it does, painfully.

Something sharp latches onto my wing, pulling me down as I scream in pain. Something claws the tinder skin that covers my fragile bones. The pain is incredible. I try to fight back, but it's all in vain. Whatever has me is far stronger than I.

Another something rams into me, digging its claws into my abdomen and jerking me to the right. A third catches me across the face, nearly taking out my eyes. I fall, fast. My ten thousand feet disappeare so quick that before I know it, I hit the water with bone shattering force.

The creatures, whatever they are, move away from my bleeding, shattered body. I lay there, sinking, as my lungs fill with water.

That's when I feel it. A deep rooted energy that seems to pour from my heart. It burns, but where ever it goes, the pain and shock flee. One swift, painful beat of my wings sends me speeding toward the surface. When I hit air, I gasp and cough water, but I don't stop. I furiously beat on, painfully driving myself upward.