Love, Anger, Affection, Hatred

Angel awoke in a mess of blankets, pillows, and loose feathers. The boy stretched his wings and his arms, shuffling through his nest until he was untangled. When he was young, Line had given him a regular bed with a mattress and bed frame, but every morning he would wake up tangled in his blankets on the ground. When Line was at her wit’s end, she had called on Osvald, who had reminded her that his mother had always been comfortable sleeping among her own nest made of anything soft. Avians did it naturally.

Angel lit a gas lamp in the pitch black darkness so he could dress himself, then extinguished the lamp when he left his windowless room. He met Line in the kitchen, awkwardly trying to keep her daughter still while making breakfast. The Avian smiled, diving towards Ella, scooping her up in his arms, and holding her upside down by her ankles.

“Oh no!” Ella cried in a fit of giggles and shrieks. She swatted at her own waterfall of brown locks obscuring her vision. “The evil bird man has captured me! Save me, Mommy!”

“It’s too late,” Angel grumbled in his evil-bird-man voice, fighting a grin that split his face. “Nothing can save you from my claws of fury, Human child.”

“Ella, don’t pull Angel’s species into your games,” Line called over her shoulder, not bothering to look their way.

“Aw, I don’t mind, Sis. Anyway, she doesn’t mean me any harm.”

Angel tossed Ella up, catching her in his arms upright. The young girl pulled at the Avian’s ragged beret to put it on her own head. “Angel? Why do you always wear this old hat?”

“Line says it was my mom’s, and that she wore it every day. I wear it for luck.” Angel slid Ella into her chair in front of the dining table, swiping his hat from off her head.

“But Mom says Motya was captured for a long time, so she must not have been very lucky.”

“Ell!” Line cried out, turning around and waving a spatula at her daughter threateningly. Her face was a bright red, embarrassed by her daughter's words. “You can’t say stuff like that!”

Angel wasn’t offended, but he let Line scold her daughter before speaking again. He grabbed the frying pan Line had been working on, stealing her spatula to divvy up the scrambled eggs that stubbornly stuck to the pan. “Hey, Line? Last night, Osvald told me a little about how you guys broke my mom out of lock up. Will you tell me more?”

Line cocked her head at Angel. “You sure about that?”

“Line,” the Avian said with an exasperated sigh, “you guys always treat me like I might cry if you mention her. But you know, I never met her. How could I love a woman I’ve never met? Yeah, sometimes I wish I had known her, but I’m past that point in my life where I waste time wondering what could have been.”

The older woman sat down beside her daughter, taking a bite of her eggs. She made a face before shaking an exorbitant amount of salt on them. “Well, Osvald and I broke in with Tallak - Ella’s dad,” she explained as if Angel didn’t already know. “Anyway, we broke in at night, and we were fully equipped for it, too. Osvald - I don’t know if he ever told you - made some nifty weapons. He liked making non-lethal ones. Gas bombs, shocker nets, glue wads. But we went in - it was a diplomat’s mansion; surprise, surprise - and the guards had weapons, too. The lethal kind. So we had to sneak past them, and we did for the most part. When we found your mom in the basement, we got her out of her cage and Tallak carried her out. We were apprehended by some bodyguards halfway out though. So your mom gave us a feather and we wished ourselves out of there.”

Angel’s shoulders sagged when Line didn’t go on. “That’s it? Where’s all of the danger Osvald told me about? Where are the details?”

“Yeah! Details!” Ella cried out, standing up in her seat.

“Ella, sit down. Angel, it’s not a night I remember fondly. I don’t regret freeing Motya - she helped our rebel group really go farther than they ever had. She was a fantastic leader. But we weren’t soldiers. That night wasn’t a party; it was ugly. It was scary. And it’s not an appropriate story for Ella.”

Said girl released a disappointed ‘aww’ before proceeding to sit down and dig excitedly into her eggs. Angel poked at his food in awkward silence as he waited for the inevitable. When Ella jumped out of her seat, abandoning her empty plate to play upstairs until everyone else was done eating, Angel dug into his pockets for the money Osvald had given him the night before.

He cleared his throat, catching Line’s attention with a, “Sis.” He held out the bag of coins. “It’s not much, but it’s everything Osvald gave me.”

Line frowned from across the worn table. “Angel, you earned that money. Keep it.”

The Avian slid the bag across the table. “At least take what you need. It costs more money for me to live with you, I know that. You and Ella might have been able to live in the middle-class district if I didn’t live with you,” he rushed to say before Line could interrupt him.

Line pushed the bag away, frustration on her face. “It wouldn’t be that much of a difference-”

“You lost your old job when they found out about me,” Angel reasoned, sliding it back.

“The pay isn’t much lower-”

“But Tallak would have been alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“That’s not your fault; it wasn’t in your control.” Line whispered, her hands shaking at her sides as tears began to blur her vision.

“Yes, it was! I should have listened when you told me-”

“You didn’t know-”

“It’s my fault-”

“I don’t want your money, you dumb bird!” She cried, throwing the bag of coins at Angel.

The boy ducked from the heavy bag and then stood, affronted by Line’s words. Tears threatened to wet the Avian’s face, but he held them back. Line was standing now too, shoulders hunched as her whole body shook.

After a bout of silence, Angel said, “Tallak’s death may not have been in my control, but giving you this money is. Just take it.”

He stormed out of the kitchen and out of the house before Line could see his tears. In the kitchen, Line collapsed onto her chair. She hid her face in her arms, muffling her sobs as treasured memories of her husband came flooding back. She forced herself to adjust her composure as she heard Ella’s light steps coming down the stairs. As the woman took deep, calming breaths, she broke into a coughing fit. The woman gasped as the fit of coughs finished wracking through her body.

“Mommy? Are you alright?”

Line looked over to her daughter and smiled a closed-eyed grin (to hide her red eyes more than anything else). “Of course, Ella.” She held her arms out to her daughter. “Come here.”

Ella obediently climbed into her mother’s lap. “I heard you and Angel fighting. Was it about Daddy again?”

Ella’s mom took in a shaky breath. “It’s okay, Sweetheart.”

“Isn’t he thankful that Daddy saved him?”

“Of course he is,” she said, burying her face into her daughter's hair. “Sometimes we feel bad about things we can’t control. Sometimes we blame ourselves.”

The little girl seemed thoughtful for a short time before turning her head to look up at her mom. “But why would you blame yourself for something you didn’t do?” she asked innocently.

“I’ve been wondering that my whole life, Ell.”

*

A murder of crows burst from the depths of downtown Gear City, cawing as a metal beast tore through their home with a thundering roar. Their raucous laughter filled the morning air as they watched the beast run into a tree, smoke billowing from its tinny body.

Meanwhile, on ground level, Osvald stood at the edge of The Square, rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully. He called out apologies to the crowd of people gathering to see what had happened, jogging to catch up with his protege and crashed motorbike.

Angel sighed, looking up to the sky through the leaves splayed out above him and listening to Osvald’s damaged bike sputtering beside him. It hurt to lay on his wings like this, but watching that group of crows fly away had both distracted him from driving and spurred another bout of depression. He wouldn’t have to learn to ride this bike if he could just fly.

“Angel? Angel!”

The Avian turned his head to watch Osvald hurry towards him. He heaved another sigh, feeling the wind caress his face and wondering absently if that’s what flying felt like.

“Angel, can you hear me?”

The boy sat up, nodding at Osvald. “I’m fine, Osvald. Just…” Another heavy sigh. “Just tired is all.”

“You lost your cloak,” Osvald huffed, bending over to catch his breath.

“Huh?” Angel reached over his shoulder for his cloak, but Osvald was right - it was gone. His wings had never been so obviously exposed to the public. It was one thing to be seen in Osvald’s shop, where his employer could keep him safe; out in the open was dangerous. The last thing he wanted was to lose Osvald the way he had lost Tallak.

He stood up quickly, fighting the heat that burned his face as strangers stared at him. A crowd was definitely manifesting around the square now. He tried to turn his back to them, but they surrounded him on all sides. When he couldn’t spot his cloak in the immediate vicinity, he pulled his wings tight to his back and pressed himself against the tree he had so gracefully crashed into with Osvald’s motorcycle.

Anxiety bubbled in Angel’s chest as the number of people watching him only increased, and their voices grew in volume. His hands began to shake, and his heart pounded in his ears, only adding onto the noise of the crowd. Absently, he could hear Osvald’s voice, but none of it registered; none of it made sense. In all sixteen years of his life, this was only the second time such a circumstance had occurred. Should he run? Should he hide? Should he strut about pridefully?

All he really knew he wanted to do was cry, so he squeezed his eyes shut.

But he could hear Line’s voice now, telling him not to let them see his tears. Then, just when Angel was sure his heart was about to burst, he heard a bubble of chatter from the crowd. He opened his eyes to see a small figure break from the crowd: a little boy. The child, probably no older than eight or nine, hurried up to Angel, gasping for breath. The Avian relaxed at the sight of the child, now wondering what he had to say.

“Are you a real Avian?” the boy asked with a lisp. There was a gap in his smile where a tooth was missing.

“Uh,” Angel took in a shaky breath. “Yes, I am. I mean, I’m half-”

“What’s you name?” the boy wondered, not interested in anything besides the ‘yes’.

“Angel.”

The boy gaped at him. Then, in a whisper, he said, “Like a guardian angel?”

“Uh, well, n-not exactly-”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Angel gazed around at the crowd, but no one seemed to be claiming the child. They only continued to stare. He knelt down to be eye level with the boy. “Go ahead,” he whispered back.

The boy looked around as if he was afraid someone might see him - which they would - before leaning closer to whisper even more quietly. “My dad isn’t very nice to me. Sometimes he hits me when he gets mad. I know it’s just because he misses Mom, but it hurts. Next time he gets mad, will you help me?”

Angel leaned back, turning his head to look to Osvald for help. The older man didn’t seem to have heard any of the boy’s request, and only watched Angel expectantly. He turned back to the child, the boy’s face full of hope, as well as the potential for heartbreak. The Avian dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a handful of stray coins. He held them out to give to the boy, who took them with a squished look of confusion.

“Take this money and buy yourself a treat - and something for your dad. That might make him happy. But if he does go to hit you again,” Angel paused, reaching under his arm to pluck a feather with a wince. “Use this. Hold it in your hands and make a wish. Okay?”

The boy took the feather with a look of awe, jamming the coins into a pocket and gently clipping the feather on the inside of his sleeve. Then he jumped up to grab Angel’s neck in a hug. Angel hugged him back with full force before turning him around and giving him an encouraging push forwards.

The crowd only continued to stare. Not taking his eye off the people, Angel turned his head towards Osvald and said, “They’re not moving. What do we do?”

He heard Osvald approach. “Well that stunt there certainly didn’t change anything. Stand up straight. We’re going to walk my bike back to the shop with our heads held high. Just pretend they’re not there.”

Angel pulled his wings toward himself protectively, forcing his eyes forward and without focusing on the people in the crowd. He stood close to his employer’s side, not feeling much security as Osvald was shorter than him. When the two had almost breached the circle of onlookers without incident, a glass bottle was thrown and hit one of Angel’s wings.

He winced and cried out, but quickly cut the sound off and stood tall. No one else moved. When the young boy and Osvald had exited the downtown area and reached a more secluded section of Gear City, Angel turned to the man beside him.

“Osvald, do you think Line ever regrets taking me in?”

The man stopped. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Angel rubbed his neck nervously. “I don’t know. I feel like we’ve been fighting more and more lately. We had a pretty bad one a couple days ago. About Tallak again.”

“You’re a teenager, Angel. This happens all the time with teens and their parental figures. It’s natural. At least it is for Humans. I’m sure it’s the same for Avians.”

The boy threw his arms up and kept walking. “But that’s just it! I’m not even an Avian. I’m a mutt. My dad was a Human who paid to have sex with my mom. There was probably a huge chance I could have been born without wings! And then I could have lived a normal life.”

“Kid-”

“No unwanted stares, no bottles being thrown at me. Nobody sacrificing themselves for me when- when I didn’t even ask for it! Just because I’m some stupid hybrid, doesn’t mean my life is worth any more than someone else’s.”

“Kid, Tallak loved you like a son-”

“And he paid the price for it. I don’t want this life. If I could fly, I’d get the hell out of Gear City in an instant. I’d live by myself and farm and forage. I’d live alone, where I didn’t have to feel guilty for being born.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Osvald said, putting a hand Angel’s back.

The Avian shrugged it off, increasing his pace to reach the shop first. When Osvald caught up, he unlocked the back door and wheeled his bike in. Angel followed, standing by the furnace to warm up. It wasn’t too cold outside, but he generally liked his body temperature to be measurably higher than most others.

Quick to change subjects, the elderly man said, “You know, I think part of the reason you’re having trouble with balance, is that this bike was made for me. It’s weighted the opposite direction I tend to balance myself towards. How about we make you a bike?”

Angel turned to Osvald in surprise. “Really?”

“Sure. Why not? I’ve got the scrap for it.”

Author's Note

When you have two short chapters and you're like, "Eh. Fuck it." and just stuff them together. Deal with it.

2,698 words