Metal Birds

Chapter 1: The Bell Tower

London, England, August 1934

Arthur looked up at the overcast skies, cross legged and silent as he sat in the old bell tower. He had come up to the place as he always did, after it had stopped ringing. Only the man who rang the bells every hour knew that he sat there.

It was his ritual. He would sit there in the bell tower of the old cathedral, staring down and about at the slowly growing and aging city. He managed his way up there the moment the bells stopped ringing. Sometimes, he could hear the dull thrumming of their chimes still resounding about their copper bodies. He would bring nothing with him but his thoughts and his weary emerald eyes. They shone with an age that did not match his appearance whatsoever; and his mind softly tossed barely comprehensible thoughts between its nonexistent hands.

The bell man always shouted up at him that the hour had passed when he came. It was to prevent a repetition of an incident that had occurred a few years before. It had resulted in Arthur being nearly deafened, and nonetheless very startled. The unannounced ringing of cathedral sized bells was none too calming up close.

He enjoyed watching, knowing that no one was aware he was there. He came, rain or shine; snow or sleet. He had seen many, many things. He'd seen the carriages turn slowly into automobiles, and the cobblestone streets slowly wear down flat; riddled with ruts and paths from the traffic of both wheels and feet.

He had seen winter cascade down upon the rooftops; his feet still colder than the snow that had taken the city. But he would stay. He would stay the whole hour, and he would not bother with anything else other than his mind.

He would watch as young couples marched cheerily past battle worn veterans, weary old men and comfort seeking widows. He had seen children both well dressed and ragged. They would peruse the streets differently, though they always acted as if the streets were theirs. He had seen top hats and bonnets converge back and forth across the square. He would watch as birds of all shapes and sizes and coloration darted from rooftops and into the vast open sky.

Yet, he did not leave to join them and their free spirited ways.

Sometimes, he was so still and calm that they approached him. They didn't mind when he stretched their wings gently to look at the bones and feathers that had been sewn so cleverly together by a force he did not know.

They were much different than his own wings, he would remark silently to himself. His wings were so big and heavy he had to allow them to slump off the edge and back into the cavernous opening the bells hung over. They were pale, a dirty blonde. It was a color very much like--if not exactly the same --as his hair. There were large black bars that stretched across the larger feathers of his wings, breaking along each edge into slightly riveted patterns.

Like a sea bird's wings, the bell man said.

The wings jutted from his lower back smoothly; some small feathers even peppering his spine. They didn't bother him so much. His wings were so large they dragged behind him when he walked. It was funny, he did his best not to drag them even though he couldn't help it. Those he lived with in the cathedral had a strict dress code.

He was clean shaven. He didn't like facial hair, as much as he found it amusing and sometimes fitting on the faces of the men so far below. He kept his hair short as well, to show respect to those who cared for him. It was wild and undone; hard to tame. If it was a little longer it would be easy to take care of, but he didn't bother asking if he could grow it out. It didn't bother him, if it kept those around him happy.

"The hour's up!" The bell man called up, and Arthur glanced down.

"Alright, I'll be down!"

With that, he stood, before leaning forward slightly and using his feet to push off the ledge. He kept his wings spread slightly, wide enough for him to glide, but short enough so the feathers didn't bend against the walls of the tower. He floated down simply, sometimes using his feet to kick back from the walls and avoid running into them.