Chapter 2
I
burst through the back door to my apartment, throwing everything in my
hands in the floor next to me. My spine burned like it was bathed in
gasoline. The pain caused my head to swirl in a drunken rage, so
scattered and screaming that I operated only on instinct. I ripped off
my shirt and slumped against the cold door, trying to sate whatever
monster clawed at the inside. The burning was slightly soothed, but a
terrible itch took its place. I rubbed my back side to side over the
sculpt of the door, but it did nothing. I reached into the silverware
drawer in the counter next to me, scrambling to find something long
enough to reach between my shoulder blades. Knives and forks jumped into
the floor before I could find a spatula. I pressed it hard on my spine,
scraping at the itch. Instead of beating it with each layer of defeated
skin, the itching got worse, like my back was teething.
I
felt sores open on my back, and a hard pressure began to build between
my shoulder blades, as the itching journeyed down along my spine. I gave
up on the spatula and flung it into the sink. I climbed to my feet, and
backed up to the edge of the counter. Up and down, I dragged my tired
skin over the hard edge. The burning subsided more, and it felt almost
like heaven. I moved up and down faster and faster, the quicker I went,
the more everything seemed satisfied. I pushed harder, and leaned back
more, sliding up and down, up and down. It was euphoric.
On
the way down once more, I lost my footing and slipped straight onto my
ass. My head bounced against the corner of the counter, and my vision
blurred. I tried to get up, but kept slipping in something wet. I
panicked and slipped, banging my head against the counter again, it
seemed futile to get up now. The room was spinning, and I brought my
hands to my face; they were wet, too. When I opened my eyes, I saw they
were covered in blood. I spun around and looked at the edge of the
counter, it was my blood. A more severe panic grabbed my brain and I
crawled into the downstairs bathroom. I faced the wall, and pulled
myself up against the sink, my back facing the mirror. I saw now that
the burning itch was only calmed by the blood oozing out of two parallel
lines running on both sides of my spine. Then a more defined push
showed itself in my upper back.
I
saw both lines swell up and slowly push in the mirror, stretching my
skin more and more with each attempt. My flesh was screaming in pain,
like it was being ripped off by a wooden spoon. It looked like something
was tearing its way out from inside me. I couldn't move, I could only
watch in horror. Further and further the elasticity of my skin was
tried, until it was finally breeched. One bone broke free from behind my
right shoulder. Blood sprayed onto the mirror and sink, a split
followed all the way down to my waist. Underneath, the muscles were
exposed and burning against the air. Then the left side joined the
revolt, and pushed through the last line of defense. I couldn't watch
anymore, I turned my head back to the wall, and I saw it. The shadow of
something that wasn't human. Two giant wings stretched out, unsure of
themselves. Strangely my back felt like I had arms stretching out for
the first time. Everything swam in my head, and the colors of the room
joined into an orgy in my eyes. The last thing I remember was falling
forward, my head rolling against the wall.
I
woke up curled in a ball, uncomfortable as fuck. Dried blood speckled
on the walls and soaked into the thin carpet underneath me. I pushed
myself up, sore from the hard concrete under the sliver of carpet. It
gave nothing to me over the hours I was unconscious, and my arms and
shoulders whined about it. As I lifted myself off the floor, I felt
heavier and off balance. My back brushed something on the other side of
the room. My head almost buckled trying to comprehend the new feeling. I
was facing a wall, right up on it, actually, and somehow, my back
touched the washer, which was two and a half feet directly behind me.
The
night before flashed in my mind's eye, and replayed on fast forward. I
remembered everything, every single detail played clearly through my
hazed mind. Cautiously, I turned my eyes over my shoulder, and saw a
giant blood-matted, feathered arm curled out of my back. Slowly, I
reached my hand back to it, shaking, unsure of what would happen. When I
made contact, it felt like I was touching another part of my body. Not a
foreign creature that ripped its way to freedom through my skin the
nightmare before. Touching this thing felt like I was touching my leg,
or my arm or hand. I could feel it on the end of my fingertip, pushing
its afterbirth further into its feathers, and I could feel my fingertip
on the tip of its feathers. I pulled my hand away slowly, still waiting
for some of the attitude it displayed last night, but there was none.
My
arms felt stiff, and my back and neck hurt like hell. My calves and
thighs felt short and unused, so I stood and stretched everything out.
Arms to the ceiling, wrists bent and twisting, legs straight and my feet
pushing off the ground, connecting only on its toes. And the two
newcomers spread as well, brushing the ceiling and door frame,
stretching outside the bathroom, while the other stretched almost the
entire length of it. Curious, I tried to flex my back, and to my
surprise, one of them responded. It stretched out, and curled back in,
like an arm bringing a cup to my face.
I
stood in the bathroom for hours, testing the new appendages out, only
to find most of my limits were due to the room I was in. After my
amazement died down, I noticed the blood all over the bathroom, and
still on the floor and counter in the kitchen. It needed to be cleaned
up before Greg, my roommate, walked through the door, or someone
knocked. SHIT! I thought, What if someone comes here? I raced through the possible outcomes, nothing was a situation I wanted to find myself in, especially now. How am I gonna go to work looking like this? Fuck, I can't even go outside. Suddenly,
the strange visitors on my back were less amazing, and quickly becoming
a heavier burden as the risks piled up in my head.
I
took a deep breath, Greg, at least, I knew I could handle. He might
freak out at first, but it'd quickly sink in and he'd accept it,
probably even think it was fucking awesome. I just had to get the blood
off everything so it didn't look like I'd just murdered two or three
people. Maneuvering around the apartment only caused more of a mess. The
wings kept stretching out at inconvenient times, knocking movies off
the shelf or papers off the kitchen table. I tried as hard as I could to
focus and keep them scrunched up against my bare back, but after a
while that seemed to consume too much effort. It was like having a
foreign language forced on me, and I had no choice but to learn. My head
tried to wrap around it, but the pain eventually felt like a nail
driven into my grey matter. Not to mention, the wings were cramping and I
didn't have much space to spread them out to their full extent.
The
calamity of cleaning dulled after a few hours, blood only staining the
carpet in the laundry room. I was exhausted and stressed, and only
wanted to sit down and relax. Gravity pulled my ass hard down to the
cushion, and a pain jolted straight into my spine. I tried to put my
hands behind me and push back up. My fingers, with their honorable
actions, pulled at the blood matted feathers, yanking a few out in my
effort to return standing. I fell completely back, like a warped board,
and the pain surged into my spine. I flailed involuntarily, and shoved
my body to the right, lying across the couch. It stopped the quick,
intense pain, but still wasn't comfortable. I rolled off into the floor,
and stood up again. Thinking that, maybe, this time I wouldn't be so
ignorant to forget my two new guests, or be so impolite as to forget
they were there. I put my back to the couch, and stretched the wings out
as far as I could to expose my ass for cushion contact. Cautiously, I
squatted and leaned back. I relaxed and the wings started to curl back
to me, getting hung on the couch cushions before they could completely
do so. It wasn't the same; I couldn't relax as much as I could before I
had these awesome abominations. While the wings didn't hurt, with my
weight all on my back, it felt like I was lying on my arms, or sitting
on my legs. It wasn't comfortable, and after a couple of minutes, the
wings started to fall asleep, which was way more confusing a feeling
than my crouch falling asleep when a girl sat in my lap too long.
Fuck it, I decided, I'm not gonna sit on the couch. So,
I walked upstairs to my room, intent on laying face down in my bed.
Then, I could relax. I wouldn't have to worry about the wings being
constricted so much, and I usually slept on my stomach. As I walked up
the steps, the wings dragged against the walls, leaving more blood
smears. Not so chunky and crimson as when they broke free the night
before, but more like a dark, dried red oil paint. I immediately turned
sideways and finished scaling the steps like a crab, and used the same
method to go back up and down the steps to clean the walls. Slowly, I
realized that if I didn't want to keep cleaning every god damned thing,
I'd have to cut it off at the head. I reached back to the wing behind my
left shoulder and rubbed the feathers, feeling another odd sensation,
and pulled my right hand back to examine the afterbirth: dried, sticky
chunks of blood. How'm I gonna take a get these bastards clean?
I
stood, squeezed into the bathroom, painting more things with the wings,
before I had a crude plan worked out in my head. I pushed the shower
curtains to the side opposite the shower head and drain, and turned on
the water. Once it was lukewarm, I sat on the edge of the tub, with the
wings hanging right in the water stream. It was like a gentle massage.
The water ran down through the feathers, getting most of the blood off
the feathers, like rinsing the paint from a brush. I cocked my head
around the edge of the left wing, and stared at the drain, waiting for
the water to run clear. It wasn't as simple as I thought it would be,
I'd have to wait until the water was clear and resituate myself so as to
hold another blood stained part of one of the wings under the shower
head until all the blood was rinsed off, but it wasn't unpleasant. The
worst part of it was after an hour, my ass started to ached, sitting on
the hard plastic brim of the tub. After that was over, I set out again
to clean the blood marks all over the bathroom, and downstairs on the
couch.
At
last, I was clean enough to ignore the brush strokes the wings made
against everything. There wasn't any paint in the bristles, and no
messes to follow and scrub out. I shoved the door to my room open, and
jumped into my bed. The left wing, crashed into the window, and it felt
like I stubbed my toe. On instinct, I reached over and grabbed the part
that ached, and felt my warm touch on it. Almost instantly, the pain was
soothed. My head felt like it couldn't take anymore of these new
sensations. The alien feelings were about to over load all my senses,
not just touch. So I buried my face into my Hello Kitty! pillow, and
finally everything relaxed. The wings spread out and covered me like a
blanket, warm and soft like it was just out of the dryer. Instead of
falling unconscious, sleep washed over me calmly and pleasantly.
Invincible,
that's how I felt, air gusting underneath me. A sound of feathers
shoving air, and I was gliding like a leaf over apartment buildings and
fast food joints. The cars on the streets were models like the kind I
would play with as a child. Their headlights dim as dying flashlights,
navigating the dark parts of the streets that street lights forgot to
protect. I heard footsteps, like someone's running up the steps next to
my room. I look around, but I'm still coasting on the wind. The creaks
of the floor boards give and take, as weight bends them down, then
gives. I wasn't too far from my apartment, so I went to check out the
familiar noises. I reached the window and slow the glide to a hover, and
peek through the window next to my bed. I'm still in there asleep. No
one's outside my room, I'm still alone. Then, a sting pricks me in the
back of my neck. All nerves shut down, and I fall down onto the porch,
and slump immediately. Groggily, I turn my head to see what hit me, a
giant shadow reaches out toward me.
My
body jolted and jerked me out of slumber land. I pushed up, arching my
back to get my face of the puddle of drool soak into my pillow, flip it
over, and let my face fall back into the cotton stuffed fabric. I
stretch, flexing my calves and twisting my arms out on either side of
me. The wings push out directly behind me, their edges nearly brushing
the ceiling. Then I release, my legs and arms go limp, and the wings
fall back to my sides, falling softly like a blanket. I hear the
footsteps again, thudding all the way down to the living room, Greg's
home. A balls of nerves made its way to my stomach, and I had no real
want to do anything besides go back to sleep. Procrastination is my
profession, but sooner or later it's bound to happen. I'll leave my
room, and shit hits the fan. The best thing I could do is wait until he
was back in his room, and talk to him through the door. Build up the
suspense, so it wasn't just shock and out of left field. I'd put out a
buffer, and hopefully it would be enough.
Once
again, thuds ascended the stairs and creaks pressed on passed my door.
It was shit or get off the pot, so I pushed myself up to my knees, and
wormed my way off the bed. Carefully, I walked to my door, trying not to
knock everything off my computer desk and dresser and I tip-toed passed
them. "Hey. Greg," I shouted through the door, my eyes staring at my
feet.
"What?" the door muffled back.
"Uhm,"
I can't say I planned too well on how to break in to the whole 'I have
wings' conversation, so I just said the first thing that came to me,
"did you see any blood downstairs?"
"No. Why? Are you on your period?"
"No, dick, there's just something kind've weird that happened last night."
He paused, I bet he thought I was fucking around with him, "What happened?" the curiosity outweighed his patience.
I
blanked, I didn't know if I could just come out and say it or what. How
many times do you ever have to tell anyone that your body has sprouted
new appendages? "It's prolly better if I just show you, so don't freak
out."
"What the hell are you talking about?" it wasn't a panic in his voice, just an excitement to figure out what was going on.
I
heard the floor creak again as he walked to my door. He turned the knob
and began to open it when I put my hand on the back of it to hold it
shut. "Give me a second, I'm standing right behind the door."
He stopped pushing, "Okay."
I
carefully maneuvered myself back to the middle of my room, where there
was enough space so I could stand and expand the wings a little without
knocking things over and making a mess. "Alright, but promise me you
aren't gonna freak out."
The
door cracked open, "I don't know what the fuck you're talking abou….."
he stood and stared, squinting his eyes a little to make sure he was
focusing in right.
"I have wings," I pointed my thumb over my shoulder, and half smiled in that manner of 'I can't believe it either.'
"What the fuck, Karr? Are those real?"
"Yeah."
"How do you just grow wings?"
"I
don't fucking know, it just happened last night. There was blood every
where, and…Christ I don't know. I'm just as confused about it as you are
now, and I've had 'em for a few hours."
"You know, for a second, I thought you murdered someone. Talking about blood downstairs, and being all creepy," Greg chuckled.
"Yeah, well, you try tellin' someone you've just had shit pop out of your back. It ain't easy."
"So…what happened exactly?"
I
recounted what I remembered of the night before, and explained all
about the pain and the blood. I told him that I originally thought it
was a demon busting out of me, and I flipped out and passed out from an
intense anxiety attack. The whole time, I was flexing the wings back and
forth, testing out movements and showing him everything I knew so far.
Then he cut in, "Two things."
"What's that?" I asked.
"One: Have you tried to fly with these things yet?"
"No, I just woke up with 'em today, I'm not about to go outside when everyone can see me, and risk becoming a science project."
He
paused , nodding his head, "Fair enough. Two: There's still two open
gashes on your back where they tore out. It's pretty gross, I can see
your muscles and everything."
"What?"
then the image from the mirror hit me, I saw it too, and never thought
more on it. I guess it was a better idea to tell Greg when I did or I
could've gotten an infection close enough to my lungs that it may have
been serious. Followed by a trip to the hospital, being in public, etc.
"Well shit, what am I supposed to do now? It's not like I can go to the
hospital and get it all sewn up."
"I've got an idea, I can go to my Mom's and grab a needle and thread."
"I'm not a piece of fucking cloth, and when'd you learn how to sew?"
"You have any better ideas?"
I
shook my head, all the precautions I had to take now were overwhelming
me, and he was right, needle and thread was just about the only thing I
could use to close the gashes on my back. "Hey, do you think you could
grab some stuff to clean 'em, too? Because all we have here're
band-aids."
He nodded, "Sure, I don't know what my mom has, but I'll look for some stuff."
"Thanks."
I half smiled again, and went to lay back on my bed, stomach first. Greg creaked out of the room, and down the stairs.
After
I heard the door slam, I reached back to the ripped skin on my back,
fingering the loose flaps that had started to curl without blood flow.
An instinct in me wanted to pull, like ridding myself of dead sun burnt
skin when it's been out in the UV rays too long. Thankfully, my logic
dictated my actions more, but not enough, my fingers wandered passed the
edge of the skin, and singed the sensitive nerve ends of bare muscle.
My back tensed up, and the wings threw a tantrum (the left one crashing
into the blinds on my window, almost knocking them off). The burning
quickly faded after my salty fingertip jumped away.
I
shoved my face deeper into the pillow, I was drowning. Everything was
too much to handle all at once, and I could barely deal with any of it.
All I felt I could do was scream, so I did. My face buried into the
pillow, I let it all out as best as I could. It was muffled, but
relieving. The ball of nerves in my chest started to unknot, and a
tranquil wave eased over me, good enough for now. I still had no idea
what I was going to do, I didn't have to work today, but that was today
and it wasn't going to last forever. I also couldn't forget that I was
forced into being a hermit until nightfall. What then? I couldn't pay
rent flying around at night, I couldn't eat on air. The knot started to
build up again, so I breathed deep and focused on moving the wings. It'd
occupy my brain for a little bit, until Greg got back, and I could talk
to someone.
I
relaxed the best I could, and arched my back slightly, trying to push
the wings out. Unsure of themselves, the twitched, but widened
nonetheless. As soon as the edge of one brushed against something, I
relaxed my back, and they curled back in. I pushed my right shoulder
blade out to see if I could get one side moving apart form the other,
and eased it more confident that the first try. It worked. The right
wing smoothly reached out off the bed, then I relaxed and it pulled back
in. I continued exercising each side within the space that was around
me, until their movements were as fluid as I could get them. If my
concentration broke slightly, they would spasm like a newborn reaching
out for its mother.
After
I got them both moving out and in, even found some positions to keep
them in so I could sit up. I thought it the next move would be the
figure out how to flap. Pushing one, or both, behind me and bringing it
forward was more of a challenge. The harder I push for them to go back,
the further they'd stretch outward. I tried harder, trying to push them
backward, but they'd just jut out and hits the walls, or smack a shelf
sending everything into the floor. Frustration began to build up inside
me, the anger tried my patience and I started to force them harder. It
only ended up in the wings crashing into more things, and getting sore,
which felt like stubbing my toe. I was about to lose it completely, I
breathed deep and they shoved themselves back, and thudded into the wall
behind me. I freaked, and pushed all the air out of my lungs, and
pulled forward, the wings curled up on each side of me, sending a gush
of air across the room. It claimed more figures and comics posing on
racks opposite of me. The wind hit the wall and bounced back to me, and
for a split second I felt like I was riding in a car with the window
down. I smiled. That was just about my favorite feeling in the world.
The
door slammed again, in the midst of successfully controlling my wings. I
lost concentration, and the few things left standing nearby went
tumbling to the floor. I shoved myself off the bed, and folded the wings
behind me. Easily, I shuffled through my room, trying to avoid stepping
bare foot on everything I'd knocked into the floor. For
the first time in hours, I left my room, and carefully thumped down the
steps. Greg looked up at me and tossed a plastic bag on the table in
front the couch. "What'd you get?" I asked.
"A needle and some thread, peroxide and some gauze and medical tape."
"Awesome. I owe you a big one," I sighed.
"Yeah, I guess I'm gonna hafta been the one to do the stitching, since you can't exactly look at your back," Greg pointed out.
"You know how to sew? Since when? You can't even put the right dish detergent in the dishwasher," I laughed.
"Suck my ass, that only happened once. And I don't see anyone else here to clean your fucking wounds. So shut your cocksucker."
I laughed. "Fine, fine…this is gonna suck isn't it?"
"Probably, since you're a giant bleeding vagina."
"Awesome. Well, how're we gonna do this?" I asked.
"Uhm, just sit on the table and keep those things outta the way, and don't be a baby."
"You sure you can handle this? Ya know, needles and skin, and all that gross shit."
He
just nodded. I turned my back to him, and sat down on the table top. I
crossed my arms and grabbed the edge of my wings, and pulled them both
close to me, leaning forward. I felt the air hitting the exposed muscles
in my back. It felt fresh, but burned slightly. Greg got up and walked
into the laundry room, and came back with a towel. "Here, put this
underneath you."
I lifted up and scooted the towel where I was sitting. "You ready?" Greg asked.
I
took a deep breath and nodded. The peroxide hit my wounds, and bubbled
and fizzed, like Rice Krispies in a bowl. It was by far the worst burn
I'd felt since I gashed my back open when I was kid. Ironic how it'd
sort've happened again. Greg grabbed one of the gauze and started
patting the excess peroxide from the torn skin. I winced, and bit my
lip. "Alright, I'm gonna start stitching now," he let me know.
I
closed my eyes, and tried to put my mind somewhere else. It didn't
work, all I could think of was acupuncture, and a few movies I had seen
where it was used as torture. Needles had never really bothered me, but
those celluloid fantasies had made my eyes water, and my lungs gasp. All
that seemed to be playing in my mind were those reels of pain and
suffering, then the first puncture was in and working its way through my
skin. My teeth pushed hard into my bottom lip, and the needle was
through, leading the way for a rough thread sanding a hole into my skin.
"You good?" Greg asked.
"Mhmm," my teeth were still imprinting on my lips.
Each
time a new hole was made, it felt just like the last, not more painful,
and definitely not any less. The most unpleasant of it all was when
Greg had to draw the skin closed as best he could. The thread tugged
unforgivingly on the weak flaps of skin that had already been abused by
my two new friends. When Greg finished the first one, he tied the thread
tight, and moved quickly to the next one. I could tell he was getting
the hang of it fast, which was good for me, although occasionally his
patience led a needle slightly beyond the skin. I just bit down harder
and hoped it wouldn't be a regular thing, which it wasn't. When the gash
underneath the left wing was done, Greg put a gauze over both stitched
up wounds, and taped them down. After he was done, I grabbed the tape
and rolled it around my stomach to make sure it wouldn't start peeling
off before it was time to clean them again.
I stood up and turned around, "Thanks."
"Yeah, don't worry about it."
"No,
seriously, it means a lot. I feel like I'm going crazy. All this shit's
falling down on me, and I can't do anything put accept it. And now I
can't even go outside or anywhere because of these things. So, thanks
for not freaking out on me, and helping me."
"No problem. I mean, considering, you're doing pretty well. Besides, it's pretty awesome that you have wings. C'mon."
I
nodded, "Yeah, it is. And you're taking all this really well. Shouldn't
you be freaking out just as much as I am? I mean, usually, you'd be
right there with me."
"Fair
enough, but I mean, I'll just freak out when you're not around so it
doesn't get you all stressed out," he laughed. "So can you do anything
with 'em yet?"
