Wings

5. Alexa

The bus was a small Purgatory on the way to my lonely Hell of an apartment. Students threw whatever feathers they could find at me.

Fortunately, my stop was close to my building. I hauled my bad onto my shoulder and made my way down the aisle. A foot stuck out in my way, trying to trip me. I just kicked it hard before stepping over it, not even stopping.

As The Good, The Bad, and The Dirty blasted in my ears, I made my way up the stairs. The cheap-ass building managers didn't have time to install an elevator. That meant coming down from the piles of money they were collecting from me and my neighbors.

Unlocking the door, I stepped into the three-room apartment. I closed the shades to the only window in my living room and unplugged my earbuds, letting Panic! fill in the darkened spaces of silence in the empty room.

It was always empty here. No one came to visit. It wasn't fair to call it full with me there. I was empty, too. I had nothing to give. Nothing to lose. I guess that's why I never had any trouble standing up to that tall dickwad in the lunchroom.

The school, of course, had no idea I lived all alone. They assumed nothing, or, more likely, they just didn't give a damn. I kept my grades up and paid the yearly class dues.

I'd created another person, a "parent" to sign all my papers. I took in a hobo once in a while and fed him if he acted like my Dad. Fred was a good guy, but no father. I pulled out the school books from my bag. I'd started trigonometry early. At least my teachers, with their frail wings, liked me.

They always liked to tell me that I would someday grow beautiful wings. My trig teacher was the firmest in this ideology. She herself had small wings, grey and dotted with black. Her face was aged, but kind. Grey streaked her brown bun that was always tied on top of her head. She was kind to me. She let me stay in the back of the classroom where I knew my anxiety wouldn't be able to creep up behind me. She never asked me to speak in class. She honestly let me disappear into the walls, as long as my test grades stayed up.

I kept my head down, like I was in school again instead of the tiny apartment. Hours ticked by as I worked on my homework.

It was my only safehouse, aside from getting higher than the fucking sun. Homework was the only real thing I was good at. I could play guitar and sing, but I wasn't good at it. I could write, but I wasn't good at it. I could tell people where to go and how to get there, but I wasn't good with people. I wasn't good at anything except the useless shit they teach kids in school.

That makes me useless, too, doesn't it?