On Leather Wings

Christian

Racing faster through the twisting walkways that wound through the junkyard city I called a home (literally, the place was known as Junkpile City), I clung to the battered black rucksack holding my week's food rations, trying to escape the monsters chasing me. I could feel the sharp tips of their talons scraping the edges of my wings: catching at the grubby red feathers and pulling the looser ones free as pushed myself to run faster, to get further away from the beings that were trying to hurt me. Damned Demons. They never left me alone! I thought I'd gotten lucky today, making it all the way to market and half-way home without being spotted: but then the biggest affiliation of Demons caught sight of me...and now I was running for my life.

I hated running.

My lungs burned, my heart was pounding in my ears, and my eyes stung from the tears I was trying very hard not to let slip. Crying was a sign of weakness: and showing any weakness around Demons was nearly always fatal. It was certainly always unpleasant. And I knew that from some personal experience.

When I'd first ended up in this wasteland city: built from ruined cars and scraps of metal and the remains of the real city that had existed before, I'd tried to reason with the Demons, before I knew better and leaned to avoid them. I might have once been a Destroyer, part of the Angelic legion destined to wreak Heaven's wrath, but I wasn't violent by nature. I didn't want to fight anyone. I never had, and I never would. But they hadn't wanted to listen. All they wanted was everything. All the food, all the battery packs, all the water: anything and everything they could get their hands on. Even living beings they could sell into slavery. But I refused to meet that fate.

So I kept on running. One thing no longer being able to fly had one up side; I was a damn good runner now. I was fast, and I could dodge stationary and moving obstacles far easier than the Demons could. They were too used to being revered in their own sections of the city that, when they got to mine, they were constantly slowed down by the winding pathways, the low-hanging strings of lights, and the various creatures who hated demons that consistently made sure demons were tripped, or had their paths blocked in some way. I smiled as Craig, one of the Choralist Angels who was unafraid of kicking ass, stepped into the lead Demon's path: flaring his golden wings to prevent them from passing. He was a good friend. I was lucky to have him looking out for me, I really was. And I was also nearly home, nearly safe.

I pushed myself harder, tucking my wings against my back so that I could take a short-cut: diving through a smashed car window to reach the small space in front of the hollowed-out van I lived in. I flung the doors in and threw myself inside, slamming to doors shut behind me, and then for all intents and purposes...disappearing. The Demons couldn't find me once I was in an enclosed space, thanks to my Sorcerer friend Jinxx, and so for tonight...I was safe.

And thank the Deity for that.

Sighing in relief, I set about putting everything away: the food in my small pantry, the battery packs in the small, hollow space under my mattress, and the bottles of water in the deepest shadows under what used to be the engine space, where it was coolest and least likely to evaporate. Every last molecule of these supplies were valuable: none of it could be wasted. I didn't have the means to get anymore before next week, and I barely had enough as it was. I didn't have enough to eat tonight, for example, so instead of breaking into the food like I so desperately wanted: I curled up on my thin mattress, pulled my threadbare blanket over me, I tried to get some sleep.