Wings

Another old scrap of character exploration.

He couldn’t find it.  Good god, Elijah had lost it.  Its weightless presence in his pocket had become more than just a comfort to him.  By now, he needed it to even consider functioning.  His hands tore through the contents of the canvas bag he carried on long trips, the rough fabric scratching at the backs of them until they were bright red and raw.  A few worn copies of literature (Silas was surprised to find Faust amongst the rather embarrassing romance novels; he hadn’t been aware Elijah read), a spare change of clothes, and a few other odds and ends scattered about as he dug frantically through the bag.  He’d sworn to himself he’d never lose them, swore they would always be with him.

“It’s only butterfly wings,” Silas pointed out from his chair in the corner.  He was as calm as ever.  “Just catch a new one and press the wings.”

Elijah spun to face him, eyes nearly wild with the growing panic of having lost the Spicebush Swallowtail wings, their vibrant black and purple iridescent shades that had always calmed him and reminded him of his sister.

“Only butterfly wings?” he demanded.  “Those were Ruth’s wings!”  He only seemed to become more upset at that, his face turning a splotchy red, looking somewhat like an overripe tomato.  “My little sistah. . .  I promised I’d keep ‘em!”

Silas watched him coolly for a moment before getting to his feet and crossing over to the bedside table and opening the drawer.  There, on top of the dusty Bible, lay the carefully pressed wings.

Author's Note

And again, old. This is perhaps the weakest of all the ones I've put up, but. . .I'd like to know how to fix it, if possible.

Reviews

[CatOfOrion]

There's a few grammar errors and some sentences that you left out words in, besides that- you described things beautifully. The imagery was finite, I can't think of any advice to improve! ^^'