Silence

Free

Justin had curled up into a ball on his bed. He refused to leave his rundown apartment, opting instead to drink the endless pain away. It jabbed at his heart like a splinter under his nail. He felt the pain surge through every cell in his body with each beat of his heart. The winged male had cried every tear he possibly could, his tear ducts had stopped working around day three. Or was it four? He couldn't remember. His sense of time had been off since the third blackout.

Glancing at his wings in one of his brief moments of sobriety, he noticed his wings looked awful. He was surrounded in a sea of feathers, and the wings themselves had empty patches every here and there. He was pulling at his feathers to dull the pain. His once light and joyful eyes now only held depression and panic.

"Shit.." Justin muttered angrily. Feathers took a long time to grow back, and he knew he'd never be able to keep them up to his previous standards. March had always praised, admired, and adored his silken, jet black wings. Now, just looking at them brought pain and misery to his heart. He looked around frenziedly, in some kind of paranoiac state. It seemed to him as if the walls whispered to him.

It's your fault.

You couldn't protect him.

Your wings brought this on.

You winged beast.

Bird brain.

Airhead.

A V I A T O R.

They screamed and wailed and shouted and insisted until he couldn't take it anymore. He grabbed the sharpest knife in his kitchen, screaming for them to stop. The tears flowed from his eyes and the sobs flew from his lips. He folded his wing over, reaching back slowly. If they were the reason his beloved March had to die, he'd make sure they had to die as well.

Justin quickly plunged the knife into the base of his wing, screaming loudly in pain. He continued forcing it through his once shiny, appraised wings, now dirtied with blood and tears. The screams turned into sobs, which turned to whimpers as he released himself from one of three evils.

Thunk.

He heard the wing fall to the floor. The aviator could feel the blood pooling at his feet, but he didn't care. He was busy. The walls praised him, the voices cheered him on. It's for March they insisted happily. That was all the motivation he needed to chop off the other with another dull Thunk. It was over now. He was free. A simple, plain, human. No wings, no magic. Just his body and the unforgiving gnawing at the back of his mind telling him he had to free the rest.