fan chengcheng imagines

where angels fall

tw: injury; slight angst 

"the angels that fall from the sky are not angels anymore, and so you knew what he was when you found him. you thought you did, anyway."

There are many variations of the tale of the turtle and the scorpion. Your favorite had always been about the girl and the snake - and it went something like this;

A young girl walking along a mountain path to her grandmother's house heard a rustle at her feet. Looking down, she saw a snake, but before she could react, the snake spoke to her.

"I am about to die," he said. "It's too cold for me up here, and I am freezing. There is no food in these mountains, and I am starving. Please put me under your coat and take me with you."

"No," the girl replied. "I know your kind. You are a rattlesnake. And if I pick you up, you will bite me and your bite is poisonous."

"No, no," the snake said. "If you help me, you will be my best friend. I will treat you differently."

The young girl sat down on a rock for a moment to rest and think things over. She looked at the beautiful markings on the snake and she had to admit he was the most beautiful snake she had ever seen.

Suddenly, she said, "I believe you. I will save you. All living things deserve to be treated with kindness."

She then reached over, put the snake gently under her coat and continued toward her grandmother's house.

Within a moment, she felt a sharp pain in her side. The snake had bitten her.

"How could you do this to me?" she cried. "You promised that you would not bite me, and I trusted you!"

"You knew what I was when you found me," he hissed as he slithered away.

Though the story changes, the moral remains the same. Those things that are made of a violent nature cannot change. A snake will always be a snake no matter how genuine or beautiful the snake is, and you should never trust a snake.

The story of the girl and the snake is the first thing that comes to mind when you find a boy lying face down in your garden.

It was early in the morning when you had been woken by a crash. The house was still covered in darkness, the earliest signs of dawn peering through the mountains far away.

You wrapped your blanket around yourself and quickly started down over your stairs, bare feet padding on the wood and creaking with every step you take in the old cottage. Still half asleep, you did not consider what the noise might have been, just that it couldn't have been a thief because no one would venture as far into nowhere as you lived just to rob your little cottage. You already knew what it was, and it always came at such ungodly hours of the morning.

You flung open the back door with a mighty squeak of the hinges, flicking on the outdoor light. The air was cold and pinched your skin as well as the insides of your nose. Soft blues painted over the details of your quaint little garden, but what concerned you the most was the young man face down in your vegetables.

"Oh, dear," you whispered, hurrying out in the garden and wincing at the dewy grass tickling your toes. The bottom of your blanket dragged behind you only for you to drop it to the ground as you got a little closer.

The boy was naked from the waist up, pale skin glistening in the morning moonlight. He was shoeless, too, wearing nothing but a tattered pair of brown pants. This didn't concern you, though. What worried you were the two gaping wounds on his back.