These Broken Wings
Chapter 1: Innocence and Consequences
This is not a happy story. If you came to hear about the power of friendship or how love conquers all, you turn around now. The world is not a nice, forgiving place where we everyone can succeed and live happily ever after if only they try hard enough, where good things happen to good people. This is not a happy story, because the world is not a happy place, and to believe otherwise is... Foolish, in a way, but more than that, dangerous. So, so very dangerous. To think so is complacent. To think so is a mistake... Such an easy mistake to make.
I live now in a world of good men and strong women, a world not yet jaded by the reality of war... The reality of defeat. A world which has not yet tasted of the true poison that is desperation, the true acid that is fear and the hatred, malice and cruelty that come from them. In this world, they call me a hero, the idealistic fools. And while I should be honoured for others to feel that, it scares me more than anything I have ever experienced, for I know what I am, and they do not. If they knew the things I have done, the horrors I have wrought and the... The hearts I have broken. If only they knew, they would be... Should be horrified. I do not deserve to be called a hero, do not deserve their respect and admiration. Not after... Not after everything. What I have done cannot and should not be forgiven. There is no redemption for the likes of me. There is only this endless fate, only this endless battle... To pay for sins that cannot be redeemed. To pay for my mistakes.
And even that is more than I deserve.
I had a name once, so long ago, but to utter it would be to disrespect the... The good person I once was. No. The person who once bore than name is dead. Has been dead for a long time. The monster I have forged with my own two hands, the monster I created through mistake after mistake... The monster I am... This is the name I carry, this is the curse that will forever be burned into my soul. I am Katarla. That is what they said in their curses, that is what IT called me, and that is the only name I still deserve to carry. A spoken representation of all of my sins of, of all the tears I have brought in others and all the pain I have caused. A representation everything I have done wrong.
And it didnt use to be that way. I... I used to have a home back before... Before everything. I had a proud father and a loving mother, I had many cheerful, kind siblings. I even still had use of my wings. Back then, I still believed in good, for I lived in a world where good reigned and injustice didnt exist. It was a good world... It was. I shouldnt speak of what was. It is disrespectful to all the good people who lost their lives to madness and stupidity. What I had, I did not deserve. I took this good life for granted, believed that everything would always be alright, that if we all just did our best, nothing bad would ever happen. I was such a silly child, still living in the clouds.
I am... Was, what you would probably describe as an angel a winged, somewhat radiant being living on a plane of existence near to the gods themselves. Our elders acted as their emissaries, spreading their word and passing down their religion to the creatures of the lower plains, and in return the gods offered us protection and sustenance, offered us homes and happiness. They offered us everything. They offered us paradise. And in paradise we lived, believing ourselves to be above the mundane dangers of the lower plains. The elders, those who were born before we found our home, who had built this paradise on their own backs, through blood, sweat and tear, those who knew the world as it truly was, they always tried to keep us in shape, to keep us aware of the dangers. But we were children, most of us, born into a world of happiness and comfort, growing up knowing nothing but people we could trust and people who loved us. We never believed them.
I want to say it was their fault, that they babied us and hid the truth. I want to, but I cannot, for the truth is that... We were foolish. All of us. We knew not the world, and we cared nothing for it. We looked upon the grizzled old men with skin covered in scars and old weapons proudly carried on their belts as a curiosity, the strange ways of adults who still lived to traditions no longer relevant. We were still young and innocent, still looked upon the world with big blue eyes and saw nothing but endless opportunities. We still believed. And we paid the price for it. No... No, this is a lie. We did not. I paid the price for it, and they all paid for my sins. Even the worldly elders were not worldly enough to do what had to be done to protect their people. But I refuse to blame them for it, for I know full well what it would have taken for them to do so. I know what they had to do, and I know what they would have had to become. They would have had to become like me, and this is a fate I cannot wish on anyone. The irony of it all has haunted me my entire life. And well it should.
A paradise, destroyed solely and specifically BECAUSE it was a paradise. Had my home had more evil, had it been more cynical and less forgiving... Had it been less perfect... It might have survived. I often wonder if things might have been different... If I might have been different, had I stayed in paradise. I know now that my world was doomed from its very inception, just as any utopia is. Our elders alone could not protect it alone, and they were foolish to rely on the gods to do so forever. Their children could never grow up strong enough to defend their home, living as they did in comfort and friendship. I know that, and I realise that, had I stayed, I would have simply burned with the rest of my world. And yet, after all that I have done, after what I have become, I have to wonder... Would death not have been better after all?
But fate said otherwise. There was a structure in my home, one my father had repeatedly warned me not to go inside. I should have listened to him, but I was still a foolish child, blinded by curiosity and complacency. I was, after all, in paradise, where everything was safe and everyone was nice. What possible danger could a simple building hold? As it turns out, the greatest danger of them all a path to the outside world. Only the gods are able to cross between the plains of existence of their own free will. All lesser creatures need magic or machines to traverse them. What I had walked into, was the machine our elders used to descend to the plains below, as was their business. However, they were proud and powerful being, well prepared for the world below. I... Was not.
Such a simple mistake, born of a childs pure innocence and understandable inexperience, yet it would change my life forever. But I am not what I am because of a single mistake. My mistakes are many. This one... Was merely the first. I was transported into a strange and unfamiliar world and dropped out of the sky. My kind, blessed with powerful wings, had positioned the exit high into the clouds, where the creatures below could not reach it to threaten our home. But I was still a little girl who had, up until that point, lived in a comfortable world where flight was unnecessary. My wings werent very strong, and I had not the knowledge needed to use them properly. I had always believed that I would have ample time to learn to fly before I faced any express need to do so, trusting in the security of my make-belief world. And now, hurtling through the sky to my death, I quickly realised the folly of my ways.
I dont remember how long I fell. It cant have been more than a few seconds, if that. But in my mind, it felt like an eternity of sheer terror. It was the first time in my life Id been truly afraid, and the ugly, sickening horror of it has never left me, even though I have since seen things so much worse. This... This nightmare of screaming, flailing, clawing for my life with every muscle in my body, every breath I had, every single thought... And being helpless. So... So completely helpless. A few simple moments of staring death in the face, watching it come to claim me, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.
But the fall that should have killed me... did not. I never fully understood why my life was spared, but I somehow ended up landing in a densely-wooded area, and dropping through hundreds of branches seemed to have broken my fall, although just barely. I did not escape at all without injury, not in the slightest. I sprained my wrist, hurt my leg, got covered in scrapes and bruises from head to toe and, apparently, had broken my right wing very badly. Flying out, even if I could have mustered the skill required, was now completely out of the question. And while I could not still fully comprehend what had happened to me, danger would not let rest. As if being badly hurt was insufficient, my fall had alerted a whole pack of beasts I had never even heard of before, and they sensed an easy meal in me. As a child, my instinctive desire was to sit down and cry, but my body told me to run.
Through the darkness of the forest I ran, deeper and deeper, the sound of claws against the ground and the howls of bloodthirsty beasts at my heels. Tired and injured as I was, I should have had neither the strength nor the drive to even stand up, but it was as if my body moved on its own. My mind was slowly giving into the fear, shutting down my senses and reason, leaving only a singular, repeated thought: run! I dont know how long I ran, I dont know how many times I tripped and fell, I dont know how many more injuries I caused myself. At the time, I didnt care. I was too scared to think. All I wanted was to survive, to escape this ugly fear, to save my miserable, pathetic hide. And so I ran, until my legs would no longer carry me.
I collapsed near a great tree, out of breath, out of strength and out of hope. I shut my eyes and held my breath, waiting for the horror I felt was imminent, but it didnt come. I had lost the beasts which pursued me, possibly hours before, never even realising when and how it had happened. Blinded as I was by fear, however, I had simply not noticed. So single-minded had I been in survival I had simply not turned to look. And it had cost me. With nothing left to give, my body gave out, leaving my lying in the dirt, broken and spent.
Then the pain came. I had not felt my wounds when I fell, the shock of it all had dulled all sensation. But resting my body now, and with my mind returning to its senses, I began to realise just how badly I was hurt. Every move I made sent me into agony, every part of my body hurt horribly, my head felt like it was splitting open... This was the price I was paying for survival. At first I tried to fight off the pain, to put my wounds at ease and try not to agitate them, to find some semblance of comfort in this torturous situation, but there was none. No matter what I did, no matter how I squirmed, there was no relief from this paralysing pain. All I could do was endure it as night crept over the forest like an ominous spirit.
Desperate and alone, all I could do was lie down and cry. I dared not make a sound, for I feared I would alert the many creatures I heard creeping around outside, but I could do nothing to stop my tears, flowing down one after the other. I could no longer even wipe them, for my hands were already wet, and dirty from the ground. I lay there, crying quietly into the night, stifling my sobs into little, strained hiccups. What I saw of the real world, I was badly unprepared for and could barely comprehend. Id heard tales of the forest and its many wonders, thinking it a mystical, exciting place of high adventure. Seeing it with my own two eyes, however, feeling the shivers it sent down my spine, I realised that this had been nothing more than an wishful illusion, tamed down so that it wouldnt scare the children. What had sounded so glamorous was instead a dark, painful, frighteningly brutal reality.
It felt like day would never come. I lay in the darkness, clutching my wounds, praying to all the gods that this horrible night would end, and yet it seemed like it never would. I dont know if I fell asleep or if I lost consciousness, but when I opened my eyes, it was already daytime. I was awakened by what sounded like a voice. Rushing outside, I found the familiar silhouette of an angel in the distance and my heart sand with relief. Surely this terrible experience was coming to an end and the good life would return... I was just an innocent child praying to go back home.
But the truth was worse than I could have imagined. What I had thought to be one of my people was, in fact, a devious shape shifting predator, a vile creature which lured its prey to their death by showing them their most deeply-held desire. Before I realised what it was, it was already too late and I was firmly in its grasp. However, it wasnt until I realised my real fate that true, unhinged panic set in. As its teeth sunk into my flesh, I realised this creature intended to devour me alive as I stood there, looking at it. It is surprising what a person can do when cornered and afraid. Through the pain and the panic, my mind went blank, and all I knew at that moment was survival. I pulled with strength greater than I knew I had and wrestled the monster, I hit it, stabbed it, kicked it, but it would not release me.
Id read books about the heroes of our past and heard stories from the heroes themselves. I remember the glory and honour in their battles, the dignity of their victories. But fiction did not... Does not reflect reality. I saw survival for what it really was, and there was no honour in it, no romance. It was an ugly, dirty struggle where it wasnt the one with the higher ideals that won. On the contrary, it was the lower, fouler creature which clung to life more desperately that survived. And thats all there ever was survival. There were no winners in this struggle. And forced chest deep in putrid mud, bleeding, hurt afraid and desperate, I proved to be the one who wanted to survive more badly.
Panic and fear gave way to a calm, cold-hearted drive and a strange, almost eerie clarity of thought. I knew I had to survive, and I knew that for this to happen, my adversary had to die. And so I fought, ruthless and merciless, overpowering the creature as it dragged me down. With my own two hands and with not a doubt in my heart, I beat and beat the creature until I had literally wrenched the life out of it. And even when its grip loosened, I did not let up. One of us had to die, and I would simply not allow that someone to be me.
When I dragged myself out of the swamp, I was no longer a child, no longer innocent and idealistic. I had just murdered another creature which, for all intents and purposes, was just trying to survive, and I felt no remorse. Tired and beaten as I was, the only thing I could feel was relief that I was still alive. And as I washed my wounds and examined them, I realised I would die if they were not treated. Then, almost like flipping a switch, all of these boring survival training lessons I had been taught against my will flashed in my mind. I knew what I had to do to stop my bleeding and heal my limbs, I recognised the plants I needed to use and I could perform the techniques needed to achieve it. It was as if my body was fighting to survive to the last breath even though my mind was slowly breaking down.
The next few days I spent with no memory of ever having made a decision. It never seemed like there was one to make. I bandaged my wounds, splintered my wing and even began looking for food and water. Id learned to spot those shape shifting predators and now knew what I had to do to kill them quickly and efficiently. I also knew that they would present themselves to me to bait me. I counted on it and used it against them. Without realising it, I had turned into a vicious, unforgiving predator, preying on these animals for my own survival, taking their lives without a second thought and desecrating their bodies. The morality of it never crossed my mind. All I knew then was survival.
Until the day something went wrong. I saw the image of an angel the telltale sign of a shape shifting predator. I snuck up on it and attacked it, catching it completely by surprise. However, as soon as my mortal strike made contact, I realised something was very, very wrong. It did not transform into an ugly, toothy creature in its death rattle, but instead turned around and looked at me with shock and horror in its eyes. And in an instant, my heart sank. This was no wild animal, no predator out to kill me. This was a real angel, one of my people. I even knew him, he had been a friend of my fathers. I cannot imagine what look of bloodlust I must have had on my face, but the look in his eyes is something that has haunted me in my dreams my entire life. I remember this man, proud, strong and gentle, but I also remember his face in death. He recognised me, I know he did. And it wasnt his pain or his panic that stuck with me. It was his surprise, and the single word he managed to utter. Why? Why had the girl hed known since birth, who had always been so nice and polite, just now killed him so brutally? Why, indeed...
I have my excuses. I didnt know it was him, I feared for my life and so on and so forth. But the sad, depressing truth is that that is all those ever were excuses. He came to rescue a lost, scared little girl who he thought was hurt and alone. What he found, instead, was a rabid beast with murder in the heart and survival in mind. By this point, I had forgotten all about being rescued, forgotten all about who I was. My injuries had started to heal and I was feeling stronger, but I didnt use that strength to find a way home. I used it to make this wilderness my home. The girl he had come to save was gone. She may as well have died in her fall for all it mattered. I had slowly been losing my mind, but with this last, terrible act, I finally lost my heart, too.
I cried, I howled, I wept. What happened afterwards, I dont remember. When I killed one of my own kind in cold blood, I simply... Lost it. I... I think I drifted through the woods, surviving off the land and mostly hiding. I saw several more angels during that time and I knew they were real. They were looking for me, trying to save me. But I couldnt show my face to them, not after what I had done. Not after what I had become. It wasnt even shame at the time, that didnt come until much later. I was just afraid of what they might think about me if they knew. They searched for weeks, but eventually, they gave up. I didnt show myself, didnt allow them to rescue me because... Because I was a foolish, foolish child. If my mistake in going into a building I should not have was born of innocence, then my mistake in staying in the forest was born of fear. This was no innocent mistake, no understandably bad decision. I made a choice, a conscious choice, to exile myself from my people. And it is a choice that I have deeply, deeply regretted ever since, and a choice which would drive me to the greatest mistake I have ever made.
Quote:
|
Originally Posted by Arcanaville
Samuel_Tow is the only poster that makes me want to punch him in the head more often when I'm agreeing with him than when I'm disagreeing with him.
|
I've decided to start a new story, one I'd been mulling over for a few weeks. I'd like to start out by saying that it will be a rather dark, more than is usual for my style, and I'm not really sure why I've chosen to go with this theme considering I'm not actually feeling dark, myself. Nevertheless, keep that in mind when going into it.
I'd also like to point out that the protagonist is female. The format I've chosen doesn't really make this clear, so I thought it might be worth stating up-front.
As usual, I would like to hear any and all feedback you have on it, good, bad or neutral and will be very thankful for it. It's still a work in progress with no rigidly-defined timeline that I can't change as necessary, so it might feel a little vague or open-ended. I promise, however, that I WILL, time and opportunity permitting, finish it with a definitive, satisfying end.
Thank you for your time