Clipped Wings

I

August 13th 

Began as any normal day usually did. The sun rose breaking through the darkness of the night , a slight breeze tickling the branches of the trees and the flowers that scattered the many grassy banks throughout town. Finnegan sat on his black leather sofa staring out at the sight in front of him grimacing as he sipped on a whiskey. He knew it was morning and drinking was usually not on the cards for many at that time but he didn't care. If he wanted a drink he was going to have one. Watching as cars passed by his road not even taking one glance at his house. Good he thought. Glancing at the mess that lay on his desk he waved it off downing the last of the whiskey in his cup picking up his decanter on the small dark wood coffee table next to him. Pouring himself a plentiful glass of the amber liquid crossing his legs over the arm of the chair so his head was on one arm of the chair and his legs were curled over the other. Beams of sunlight cutting across his form as it started to bleed into his room.  

"Fuck off!" He curses to the window hoping for a moment the sky would take a hint and leave but it didn't.

Grumbling under his breath he downed the second glass of whiskey slamming it against the decanter on the coffee table peeling himself off the black leather. Yanking his ruby red curtains shut blocking out the light from the room. He threw himself back into the same position on the sofa taking the decanter in one hand and his glass in the other. 

"one for you ... one for me." Finnegan states pouring himself a double measure of the stuff. Wondering for a second if it would be easier to just drink straight from the decanter but he had some class. Even if he was day well morning drinking. 

"Mr Ridley you do realise it is morning right ?" An old woman asked from behind his sofa. Glancing up at her from his glass he glared at her.

"What do you take me for ? An idiot Margaret? I am a grown man If I want to drink I can. Haven't you got some of my washing to press or something? fuck off." Finnegan snaps at her for being judgey of the way he was deciding to live his life. 

It didn't change hers in any way so why should she care. She was paid to do his washing and cleaning not be his mother. She died a long time ago , if he needed any parenting for that matter he would pay some one else not Margaret the judgemental old lady who grimaced every time he said a bad word. What did she expect when she took the job , he wasn't exactly the purest angel known to man. Heck he was the worst you could ever come across , his wings as black as his soul  which only got darker as he fell on this path of self loathing and despair. 

Margaret nodded heading out the room as quickly as she arrived knowing if she wasn't careful Finnegan would probably try to threaten her life or worse her families' life. It was never his intention to harm it was just his hard wired nature being a dark angel. His large jet black wings wrapped around him as if he was hugging himself. But he wasn't , he was creating his own little oasis on his arm chair blocking out everything around him. 

Ignoring the countless empty decanters scattered around on his desk , grand piano and book case. Which have been laying there for the past few weeks collecting dust. His alcohol cabinet door left hanging on one hinge where he couldn't find the key and ripped it open with brute force to get to the liquid inside. Alongside the broken cabinet were countless oil paintings that had rips or scratches covering them , all apart from one. One of a porcelain doll in a bright white dress , wings of cream and gold and hair to match , hung above his fireplace in the centre of the room. Downing the third or was it fourth glass of whiskey Finnegan stared at it. His desire was to scratch at the ice blue eyes of the woman in the painting so they didn't feel like they burning deep into his soul. But he could bring himself to lay a finger on it. 

"Stop staring at me you fucking bitch." Finnegan shouts at the painting throwing the glass at it. 

Letting it shatter into a million pieces falling both on the top of the fireplace and on the floor surrounding it. What was left of the whiskey staining the white dress on the canvas turning parts of it a dirty brown kind of colour. 

"I tried ok. I fucking tried." Finnegan screams picking up the decanter to throw it also at the painting as if maybe this time the painting would fall off the wall or the girl would magical turn away from him. But alas it didn't. 

His grip loosening on the decanter letting it smash against the floor by his sofa in one swift movement. Glass in small little bullet like pieces covering his hard wood flooring. The last of the amber liquid seeping out of what was left of the bottle , which wasn't much staining the floor in a similar way to the painting. Throwing his head in his hands his eyes turning from jet black to red matching his curtains his breathe catches in his throat. 

"It wasn't my intention to hurt you. I promise." He mumbles into his hands his wings patting him lightly to console him.

"fuck off." Finnegan mutters to his wings swatting them away causing them to sit flush against his back. 

One of the larger feathers that sat in them hit the floor with a thud like it weight a ton in reality in weighed nothing. Turning around he saw it on the floor a string of curses falling from his mouth as he dropped to the floor next to it cradling it in his arms like a new born baby. Stroking it as a way of saying sorry hoping and praying it would join his wings again. Shedding its jet black colour Finnegan panicked his heart rate picking up speed almost doubling what it originally way in a second. 

"Please ... please don't do this." Finnegan mutters under his breathe but it was no use with every stroke the feather lost its colour.