Why Dont We Imagines & preferences

{Wings} C.B

I could see them. How they stretched out behind the seemingly unbeknownst people, how they would shelter their fragile bodies against the cold, or hug them like life depended on it. Sometimes I saw them stretch out and wrap around someone else, pull them closer; other times, they reached out hesitantly, but never touched them. Some were coloured colours of the rainbow, exposing their sexuality, some even express a hidden feeling deep inside.

I liked to sit outside of a little cafe just on 8th st. to admire the different shapes, colours, and actions of them. The steamy to go cup was grasped between my hands as I watched, but on this particular day, I saw something I haven't before.

There, across the street was a pale looking boy. His hair looked to be blonde, his eyes a light shade of blue, but clouded with grey specks. He was dressed in a black v-neck and simple black jeans. Of course it wasn't his looks the caught me off guard, it was the fact that he was wingless. Small nubs were replaced where they would have once been, but looking closer, I could see torn flesh, and blood dripping down his back, sticking his shirt to his body.

I watched this boy for a few minutes, but he never ceased to amaze me. He looked from across the street and right at me. I thought I was usually invisible to people, just a whisper in the wind unless I wanted to be noticed. I didn't think I wanted to be noticed by this poor soul.

His gaze lingered, not just in my eyes, but on my own wings. I've come to the realization I have the whitest wings of anyone I have ever saw. They usually stretched out, proud and elegant. They never let anyone touch me, but they never stood down. They protected me with force, but right now, they enclosed my body protectively. That's just another difference I've noticed, I can feel my wings. They go unnoticed by others.

I needed to know who he was, and what happened to his wings. He seemed to have thought the same, because he started his way across the street towards me.

I stayed seated on the oak bench, the coffee slowly left my cup as I gingerly drank more from it. I tried my best to not acknowledge him when he stood in front of me. My wings shook, just a little, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

"How you can see me?" He asked quite suddenly. I couldn't help my eyes darting to meet his own. Up close, they held so much, but more specifically, they held pain.

"I can see everyone," I answered honestly. I didn't think it was a bad thing I could see him, but I soon understood.

A little girl, no older then 10, ran down the sidewalk but when she got to him, she didn't stop. Instead, she went through him.

"You shouldn't be able too, never mind someone else's wings." I avoided his eyes, deciding watching people hustle on with their day was more interesting then him.

"What happened to yours?" I asked. I felt the lump in my throat as I looked back to him. He stood expressionless, watching over me like I was the most important person in the world.

He took a deep breath before releasing it, in one breath, "There are more then just angels and demons in the world." The words were like a slap in the face. I wondered why some didn't have wings, and nothing were they were supposed to be.

My brows furrowed together and my wings held me a bit closer, "What do you mean?"

"I mean there are angles, demons, vampires, werewolves, you name it."

Before I could ask anymore, the boy doubled over in pain. He stumbled into the bench, taking the once open spot beside me. He held in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping onto the wood for dear life.

"What is it?" I asked, reaching out to touch his back. Then I remembered, it would do no good, my hand would go through. He winced, slowly letting his breath out.

"They find delinquents, people with no one to miss them. They capture them and try to find the best and quickest way to get rid of the wings." He looked at me, his eyes growing with anger, "I was prisoner 013." His hands outstretched, showing me the inside of his wrist. The numbers were burned into his skin, a permanent tattoo.

"That's awful," I gasped. "Why would they do that?" He straightened himself out, but panted heavily.

"Everyone wants to be the superior race. We have wars, great battles that only people of the underworld know about. So why don't you?" He looked me over once more, trying to find something, anything that could explain my confusion.

"I guess I was never raised into that world," I shrug it off, but I couldn't get the feeling it was more then that.

"That's not how it works," he rolled his eyes.

"Then explain why I don't know about it," I snapped. He was being ridiculous about my cluelessness.

"That's what I intend to find out once I get better." He grabbed my hand. I stared at it, I thought it would go through, but there it was, entwining fingers with my own. Before I could ask how, he pulled me off the bench and started down the sidewalk.

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Part 2? I'm really trying to be a better writer and publisher here😂 I have drafts, but they aren't ready/finished yet. I promise I'll get better