Fallen

Oh, if these wings could fly...

FALLEN

Susie watched the next firecracker light up the midnight-sky with a strange fascination. Sitting here, at the edge of the sill, it was impossible not to feel majestic, even though she was only a girl of five, barely knee-high to her Father. The terrace covered a vast circular area, surrounded by railings all around. A year ago, she hadn't been able to reach the balustrades; now, Susie could clutch onto them, and climb up like a little monkey, before perching on the edge, legs dangling on either side.

Up here, the wind was swift like a starving beast, and it whipped across Susie's flushed face, stinging her eyes. She squinted, letting two teardrops escape. She hated crying - it made her feel like a baby, and she wasn't one, not anymore - but it was impossible not to. One hand resting on the railing to keep her balance, Susie wiped her eyes fiercely with the other, trying her best to fight the wind. Ten storeys high, the world was a beautiful view to behold, after all.

The city was a giant ready to swallow anything that was weak. Lights glittered wherever the eyes could see, massive glowing bulbs that seemed like tiny fairylights from up here. Just like me, thought Susie. Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, strands floating around her face like a wispy curtain. The red overcoat was too large for her, covering her till her knees, and yet Susie felt cold. Beneath the coat, there was a flimsy white dress reaching her thighs, and a left hand inked with a black crucifix in black.

The crucifix tattoo had been passed down generations of the Ryder family - an abstract descendant, if you must. It extended from the wrist to elbow, swirling round the hand, twisting and turning, until it appeared like a complex map to a mystical land. The skin was pink and raw where the tattoo paved its path, and to Susie, it seemed like a hideous rash. She had thought it would occupy less of her arm as she grew tall, but, strangely, the crucifix too seemed to lengthen with time. Which was why, it still covered Susie the same space all these years.

She had tried to clear it off by rubbing once, but that had only made her arm more irritable and sensitive. Susie remembered trying to cleanse it in holy water that her Father had bought from the chapel one evening; the tattoo had not washed off. Instead, there had been an excruciating burning sensation, the tattoo shuddered round her hand, her flesh recoiled from the ink in front of her puzzled eyes, leaving gaping wounds bleeding in its wake.

Father had to come home early that day. He had not been terrified or concerned or anxious. He had been angry. Susie had never seen him that angry. With a silver needle and a silk thread, he had stitched her skin back together, working furiously and deftly. Father was always fierce and neat, never loving, nor caring. After her flesh had been sewn, he had taken the ancient stele of the Ryder family, and retouched the black crucifix. All the while, tears had trickled down Susie's cheeks - the needle piercing the raw wounds, the stele touching the patched-up skin - but she had felt no pain. Susie remembered that quite clearly: She had felt no pain. And it was a fact that had not changed, since.

Susie Ryder felt no pain.

She had experimented a lot before arriving to this conclusion, of course - she was no idiot. She had scarred her face with a silver knife, opening long gashes; she had let herself get bitten by a mad dog on the streets; she had even tried to drown herself in the reservoir behind the house. In the last scenario, the housemaid had to rescue her before the water could fill up her little lungs and choke her to death. Susie had frowned that whole day, not because of the cold she caught due to the freezing water, but because she was at a loss as to what went wrong. Why couldn't she beat those depthless black waters? She felt no pain, did she? So, why did it feel so ... terrifying when the waters lashed all around her, throwing up little waves each time she tried to escape?

Father had scowled at Susie, that night. Not angry, but frustrated.

"What were you trying to do, Susanne?" he asked her in a cold, curious voice.

Susie had swallowed before writing down the answer on a piece of white page:

I wanted to see if the waters could hurt me.

Father had looked down at the note, his face turning a bit more incredulous with every passing second. Then he had looked up at Susie, made an impatient noise, and explained how nothing and everything could hurt her at the same time, and that the waters could hurt her.

"You might feel no pain even when a bullet's lodged in your heart, Susanne. But that does not mean you won't die." Then in a grave voice, he'd said: "You are immune to pain, Susie, not death."

Not death. You are not immune to death ... The words had played in Susie's head for a long, long time until they had lost all meaning. She had felt no pain upon realizing the finality of death, no loss upon discovering all her loved ones would someday face the same fate as her. For that was how nature worked, how the balance was maintained. But, knowing is one thing, and accepting is quite something else. Susie had accepted the result pretty well; she, however, could not accept the conditions in-between.

Another cracker whistled up in the night-sky, bursting into a million golden sparkles and tittering glitters. Susie watched it with wide eyes, her mouth parted a little to form a small O. The hand clutching the rail slipped - or, slacked - or, loosened - or, let go. Susie toppled over the wrong side of the edge, and even as she tried to desperately grab at the rails with greedy hands, down went she, dragged by the earth and the wind.

Susie shut her eyes.

In her mind, she wished for wings - the giant ones with black feathers, the ones that all the angels had in the pictures hanging in the basement. In her mind, she saw that she did have them, saw them pierce through her short spine, tingling her nerves, opening like the arms of a Guardian Angel - slowly at first, then erupting out in a dazzling blaze of flames and feathers. In her mind, Susie saw the wings once the smoke cleared, and they were onyx black, just like that of a Fallen Angel. She tried to move them, making jerky motions in the beginning, then gradually flapping louder and louder, until they were beating fiercely against the wind, beating the wind.

And, all the while, she fell.

Ten storeys is a long fall. But Susie wasn't ready to hit the ground, yet. Something told her that it wouldn't hurt … because she would be dead before she could feel it. And nobody wants to die, Susie knew that. So, she flew instead. Susie tried to make sense of direction, and once she grasped it, she was flying, not toward the earth, but headed for the sky. Higher and higher, up and above … The smoky clouds came down to greet her, and Susie found herself wishing she could touch them. But something told her it wouldn't be wise. The crucifix on her hand stopped her short of stretching an arm and feeling the soft touch of those clouds. She flew higher and higher; very soon, the clouds veiled her from the world - or perhaps, they veiled the world from her. Susie, to her surprise, found that she did not miss home, or her Father, or the large empty hallways of the Ryder's house. And because she never missed, she never hurt. And because she didn't hurt, she didn't cry.

The last thing she heard was the whistle of another cracker firing up the dark sky. And, in her head, Susie saw the golden glitters and the smothering red flames.

When she looked down, a little red coat blinked up at her with wide eyes from the street below.

Susie smiled to herself, as she flew for the light.

 

*  *  *

Author's Note

Suggestions would be most welcome.

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story.
"You might feel no pain even when a bullet's lodged in your heart, Susanne. But that does not mean you won't die." Then in a grave voice, he'd said: "You are immune to pain, Susie, not death."
The above lines like so many stood out. You create interesting character and good ending. Left the reader with thoughts and visions. Thank you for sharing the outstanding story.
Coyote

[Robert Parlange]

Well done. You have a gift for language. The story builds and flows easily allowing the reader to obtain just enough information to keep reading with interest. The revelations about the character and her life are subtle and the ending is very emotional.

Emotions and empathy is the power source of fiction. You are very good with that.

[Sally Hope]

Thank you, and hope I don't let you down with my next works.

[TheBrish]

This story is incredibly moving. It was written so beautifully, I wouldn't change a thing. The way you wrote it, I couldn't help but feel like I was that little girl. Great job!

[Sally Hope]

Touched to hear you could relate to the protagonist. Thank you.

[nk36n37e]

Wow. Just wow. You know, I read tons of stories, on this site and off, but I'm very rarely brought to tears. So for you managing to do that to me, that's a congratulations in itself. It's such a powerful message. All of us want nothing more than an escape from the things that hurt us, and in terms of expressing that, you were like a kid in an elevator: pressing all the buttons. I'm still piping a few tears away as I write this, because it was just so powerful, and it connected with me very well. Thank you Ms. Hope.

Sincerely,
-Noah

[Sally Hope]

It's always heartwarming to know you've been able to incite all those emotions in your reader which you yourself felt while writing a story. I don't think there's any greater compliment for a writer. Thank you.

[Strawberry Evil]

Woah, such a powerful and well written piece! I like everything about it, and it makes me want to read it again as soon as possible. I like the last line, it's powerful and gives the text the ending it deserves. I can see a good writer behind this, keep it up and keep posting!
I also like the picture, it fits with the text! Good job~!

[Sally Hope]

Thanks to you for taking the time to read it.