It's An Effed-Up World (BE MORE CHILL)

Chapter One: Nicknames

     “Don't trip on your wings again"

     Jeremy put extra focus on following the request while he followed after Squip, who was strutting down the hall about five paces ahead. The hallway, almost unnaturally quiet, was as stagnant as usual. Ivory tile, grey metal doors lining the off-white walls, and bright fluorescent lighting added to it's monochrome nature. The only thing with actual color seemed to be Jeremy’s mint green hospital gown.

     Oh, and the wings.

     Beginning with a soft brown, much like the 16 year old’s hair; slowly cascading into a golden brown almost glowing from it reflecting the blinding light surrounding them.

     With about six rooms total, the hall wasn't very long, but each step conjured crisp echos the whole way. In the last room to the left, sat the Examination Room.

     Squip pulls the door open, and waits with a look of impatience for his subject. Jeremy picks up the pace and finishes with a nervous flap, pushing himself forward the last three feet to land himself at the doors entrance. A blast of cold air from the room hits against his body, causing a small twitch.

     “I made it,” Jeremy said dryly, standing a little straighter with empty pride. Squip only hummed with a small “I see,” along with a gesture to the small medical bed in the center of the room. The younger boy, well aware of this routine check-up, shuffled toward it.

     To anyone else, the now-called Examination Room would come off as unsettling, or even scary. Now, however, after years of eyeing the colorless brick walls and shelves upon shelves of equipment and tools he couldn't even begin to understand, Jeremy only gets a feeling of mild discomfort. The worst of which came from the gamble of sitting in there.

     Will today be a simple check-up, or some excruciating test or something in between?

    He attempted to seat himself as swiftly as possible. Which was, not surprisingly, pretty clumsy. He first tries to just hop up with his back facing the cot, but ends up sitting on part of his sensitive wings before swinging back down with a wince. Squip, however, is preoccupied by scribbling something on a clipboard on the counter and a petri dish in his left hand, switching his attention between them.

     Okay, take two…

     This time, he was a lot more careful with the expense of grace. Looking a lot like a toddler trying to work his way on top of a too-tall bed. This whole setup was not made in his winged favor. The bed itself was small, maybe three fourths Jeremy's height off the ground, and covered with a sheet of white medical paper. Not to mention silver rolling tables nearby, holding fragile scalpels, scissors, and beakers of all kinds just asking to be knocked over. He’s halfway up now, remembering to keep his wings folded back despite the instinct to extend them. Like trying to walk on a tightrope while being forced to keep your arms wrapped around you. He finds a foothold just under the mattress, halfway up now.

    This is going well. I’m not going to break something this time.

     He feels his wings flutter suddenly with the hint of wobbling balance, followed by the piercing crash of glass shattering on the pristine tile.

     Shit.

     Squip immediately twists around with a jolt, followed by a groan when he sets gaze with the oozing liquid and glass shards on the ground.

    “You’d think you would have learned by now and get accumulated to your wings. We should look into why you're not.” By “we”, Squip means himself, so why he includes Jeremy in his demented endeavor is beyond him.