Your Friendly Neighbourhood Author

Rebellion

This is something that I turned in for an English assignment at the start of my senior year and I thought people might find it interesting so I put it here too.

We lived in the desolate wasteland left of Earth after the Humans died out. We scavenged for food, often fighting and killing our own Kind for mere scraps. The animals we called our Meals often lasted a fraction of a second after they'd been spotted by one of our own, chased down at ridiculous speeds by Us and anyone around to witness the animal, too. We fought and killed, dwindling our Numbers ludicrously.

But we liked it that way.

We liked the deserted roads and broken down buildings where Humans had once roamed, we liked the fighting and killing of our Own.

My ancestor, the first Ruler of The West, had claimed the West for us and Her kingdom before her inferior King took over the East. The Ruler of The East had sent us many gifts, pleading us to work together and begging us to become part of his empire, promising to fix our World and us.

What he didn't understand, though, was that we liked the way we were.

My father told me when I was created that the Ruler of The East wanted us to have his people for our own, wanted us to let them help us with our food. His people could bring the Dead back to Life, even the plants.

So, my father's father's mother decided maybe it would be a good idea to take up his offer and play nice with the Easterns, only to later make the Angels slaves to us Demonfolk.

For my 423rd year, my father gave me an Angel of my own, my own play thing to order around and do everything for me. Usually, though, Demons didn't get their own Angels until they're 500th year. My father being the Ruler Of The West didn't care to follow such tradition.

"Happy 423rd year, Asher!" He had said, stepping aside to show me my Gift. The Angel bowed his head, silently telling me he was there for me to use as I pleased. I had a feeling in my gut I can't explain, but it wasn't happy butterflies.

Ignoring the unpleasant feeling coursing through my insides, I showed the Angel to his quarters, an emptied out broom closet just big enough for a ratty old mattress I had slept in when I was smaller.

The angel bowed his head and sat on the mattress after I told him he could. He looked at me, his silver blue eyes full of fear and pain.

That was when I knew it was not right.

I stepped out of the closet, closing the door behind me.

"Dad, I know there are rules to owning an Angel, you told me so, and I think it's time I know what they are exactly." I said to my father, walking down the hall to where he stood.

"Ah, yes, the Eastern rules. We can't order them to do anything whatsoever between the hours of midnight and 2am. We cannot interact with them at these hours, either. That is when they're most powerful and damaging." My father explained to me.

I nodded and headed to my room, trying to make some sense of the tingling feeling in my horns.

~

The first Night the Angel stayed with us, I snuck into the closet to study him better, in his own space instead of mine.

I startled him awake, I guess, for he sat bolt upright in the single beam of moonlight that entered the room through the hand-sized window in the corner.

He looked at me with his big, beautiful, silvery blue eyes, his snow-white hair hanging in his face, half covering one of his eyes.

"What's your name?" I asked him, my voice shaking in the dark hour of Midnight.