A Toy With Wings

Fifteen

I draw my sickle, and I hear the rustling of Evan preparing her knife next to me.

"Don't move, traitors," the swordsman snaps. He's hooded and wearing a mask.

Evangeline turns to me for orders, and only then do I remember that I'm her mentor.

"Attack, but don't kill!" I yelp as we both swing into action.

The swordsman backs into a wall, a genius yet risky move, and raises his sword.

I jump at him, slashing my sickle wildly. He quickly deflects and attacks. He's so fast, I can barely see what I'm doing, and let my instincts take over me.

Evangeline hesitates, then joins in.

The swordsman swipes his sword horizontally, forcing both of us back. We struggle and fight, but he's just too skilled. Yes, it's two against one, but we have no advantage at all. He's too fast, and too skilled.

Wait...I think I see a flaw in him. We're winged, he's not. I flap up to the ceiling, and nosedive towards him as I glide straight down.

We collide. He raises his sword to try and block me, but with my angle and speed, he eventually falls back. I take my chance. I pounce and tackle him.

Both Evangeline and I are tired and out of breath after the match. The swordsman is panting. He did not struggle, probably realizing that it was futile. His fight quickly died down

Evangeline slowly approached the swordsman, and carefully took the mask of his ugly face.

Instantly, 'he' turned into a 'she'. The swordsman's glassy jet black eyes glared at me angrily, and her long, dark and extremely messy hair fell across her face. She looked vaguely familiar, like a very close, very old memory.

"You," Evangeline sneers.

"Who?" I ask.

"Oh, darling, don't you remember her?"

I shrug. "I don't. Who's that?" And as an afterthought, I quickly add, "And don't you dare charge me for an answer!"

Evangeline looks innocent. "It's the reporter girl."

Oh, no wonder she couldn't fly.

We are looking at Ramol's missing daughter, Amber Skyward.

"Fucking son of a mother," I exclaimed. "How did you escape?"

"That's irrelevant. Kill me." Amber's face is emotionless and stony.

"What?!" I ask.

From how Jez speaks of Amber, I'd have pictured Amber as pretty, and using a very good disguise as a reporter, but Amber fulfills neither requirement. She looks exactly like how she did as Virginia Hamilton, but this time, she dons no makeup, and she looks about fourteen instead of twenty.

"Kill me," she repeats.

"Amber Skyward, no, we are not killing you. We're taking you back to headquarters. The All-Father will take care of everything," Evangeline stresses.

We argue, but Amber refuses to move her stubborn ass. I wonder why. Won't she be happier with Jezebel?

Evangeline and myself have no choice but to head off ourselves.

By the time we're back at headquarters, the All-Father greets us with a warm smile. And only then does he tell us the bad news.

The creatures of the underworld have declared war on us.

"We are challenged to a showdown near hell's gorge," he tells us sadly. "We have three days to prepare, then, we have to meet them in battle at midday. We don't have a choice. Try and find some armour, learn some battle techniques...anything that can be helpful."

"You are dismissed," he tells us with a heavy heart.

I sigh and leave the room. I try to find the library and just calm down, but instead, I find the whote room stacked with sorted scrolls.

"Last words, Orson, just in case you fall in the upcoming battle. Want to write one?" asks the librarian.

I fake a smile, find a few scrolls, some ink and a quill, as well as a comfy and squashy armchair, and settle down to write.

It's completely silent in the library: I could hear every single throb of my heart clearly. I write:

Dear Judy, Goofy, Büdi, Moody, Noodi, Foodie, Hoodie, Whoodie over there, Ludy, Kudie, Doodi, Goodie, Poody and Woody,

I might pass away soon, at the hands of the creatures of the night, for the sake of protecting fellows, innocents, and all the good this unfair world has left. Seriously, would you call it fair if you are to die at sixteen, in a few days?

But boys and girls, life is fragile. I might slip away at any second in this upcoming war. Nobody wants it, and the Underworldians will not listen to reason.

But it is in the Codes of Angel to fight only if attacked, and that's what we are forced to do. It is also stated that the old should take care of the young, and since it's tradition to write our loved ones letters before a war. A will to family, a love letter to a crush, the list goes on.

I'm no storyteller, I'm not Miss Melody, but I will give you a final story to read and listen to as the lights go out and you slip into dreams.

Fucking once upon a fucking time, there was a little girl. Her name was Red Riding Hood. One day, her ignorant mother sent her to her sick Grandma's house to deliver medicine and snacks. God, we have postmen for that kind of shit we want delivered.

Red met a Big Bad Wolf. Yes, he is really called that, and no, despite being the Big Bad Angel, he and I are not related.

The Big Bad Wolf asked Red where she was going, and she replied, "My grandmama's cottage. She's sick."

The Big Bad Wolf told Red to pick some flowers to give to her 'grandmama', and took Red's medicine and snacks to her 'grandmama's' house.

The Big Bad Wolf ate up Red's 'grandmama', and when Red arrived at her 'grandmama's' house, he ate her as well. He fucking swallowed Red whole.

Luckily, a fucking hunter came by. He cut open the wolf and freed Red and grandmama. The wolf fell to his fucking death, and the hunter and Red got married and lived happily ever after.

The moral of this story: don't name your kid 'Big Bad _________', don't trust people, don't eat people, because that will make you a fatty, and marry a hunter when you grow up.

I'll miss you guys if I pass away.
You guys were great!

Love,
Orson Goldbloom

I read the letter over again. Fuck, it's horrible! I'm not even in the mood to let out a few bombs.

Why do I even care about those shitty brats? I absolutely hate storytelling!

I sigh, give up. It's a piece of shit, but it'll have to do. I put it aside and start writing another letter with a heavy heart.