I breathe black smoke and bathe in ash. My burnt lungs burst through my ribcage. Rust-colored blood runs through my veins.
Wings sprout from my shoulder blades, death-colored feathers.
I claw my skin apart; rotting flesh clogs under the nails.
I rise among the corpses. The sky burns red.
I'm free - forever chained.
———
I gazed out of the window while the bus halted for a moment at the traffic light.
The clock hand ticked across my watch face. It was 3:43 PM.
A mother and a child were crossing the road - the boy, almost nine years old, was skipping slightly ahead.
With a lively vroom, a motorcycle turned right at the intersection. The rider must have seen the mother, panicked, and swerved, crashing into the guilty child who should have held his mother's hand. A deserved death.
The motorcyclist, at the sudden stop of his steel horse, flew off his seat. He landed about three meters ahead, but his helmet saved his life. A well-deserved survival.
It wasn't just me who saw the incident from the bus. Other passengers gasped and screamed. The boy was trapped under the heavy machine. His belly burst open - guts spilling out.
"I would like to get off," I told the bus driver, who was also captivated by the horrible scene.
He did not hear me the first time.
"I would like to get off," I repeated myself, firmly this time.
The driver, enchanted, pressed the button to open the door.
"Thank you."
I sauntered out of the big vehicle and walked through the stopped traffic, approaching the boy.
The mother's primal scream of despair was music to my ears. The boy was convulsing, his eyes fixed on the faint sheen of my leather shoes that reflected his fate.
I stopped, knelt, and gently rubbed the dying child's chin.
"Would you like to live?"
The boy couldn't speak. Only blood drooled out of his parted lips.
I knew he thought of neither death nor life. All he wanted was for the pain to stop.
I granted the wailing mother a smile and asked her. She was the legal guardian, after all - for what it's worth.
"Do you want your child to live?"
"Yes! Please! Please save him!" she screamed.
How would I save him?
I'm not a doctor.
But it was always funny to see people cling to hope.
"Very well," I assured her anyway and asked, "What is his name?"
"Chris."
"I want his full name."
"Chris Dawn."
She was compliant - compliant for no reason. I did not even exert my authority in any form. It was her foolish hope that made her submit to my command. People in desperate situations often mistook the first person that they saw as a savior. I knew that error all too well.
I placed my palm on the boy's head and confirmed:
"Chris Dawn will live."
"Re… Really?" the mother clutched at straws.
"In my dreams."
I blinked and the city folded. A pale sun in the liquid sky.
My flesh was burning.
The black flames carved pain into my bones.
I looked around again. The city was in ruins.
My feet felt heavy, dragging through the ash as I walked forward.
There he stood, the boy who was saved from an eternal death; I was his Lord Savior.
He looked confused - scratch that, he looked frightened.
"Where… is this place?" he stuttered.
That made more than a few of my cells harden and hiss. They didn't like cowards.
"This is as close as you will get to heaven."
"Where's my Mom?!" he shouted - frightened.
I felt a pang in my heart. Sympathy. What a troublesome feeling.
"With any luck, you will see her again." I tried to comfort him.
"Who are you?"
I wished that I could tell him, but the invisible string around my neck tugged.
She was doing it again.
———
I woke up to the sound of an alarm clock - not the digital beeps, but the good old-fashioned ringing of bells.
The sun that shone through the thin fabric of the curtain on my window was soothing.
I really needed that.
I slipped out of the bed and walked toward the bathroom. My legs felt heavy, lungs depleted, soul crushed.
"Jonas, are you awake?" mother yelled from downstairs.
"Yes, Mom," I responded.
"Come down in five minutes."
She sounded kind even when she shouted.
A gentle mother. A busy but caring father. A happy family.
That's what I was blessed to be born into.
Brushing my teeth, I looked at myself in the mirror.
I looked human enough. It felt alien. I shook my head.
There was nothing in my eyes - vacant, much like my heart.
I rinsed my mouth, washed my face with cold water, and went back to my room to change into the school uniform.
I glanced at the photo frame on my desk, with a single picture of a girl with her face scratched out.
'Mary,' I whispered to the girl with no face. 'I'll find you.'