Angels
folder
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
694
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
DarkFic › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
694
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Angels
He was five years old when the angels took his parents away.
His father had shaken him awake in the cloying heat of summer midnight, had explained in hushed tones that Adrian needed to go sit in the closet and be quiet as the spiders that occupied the dark musty space.
“Just pretend you’re playing hide and seek,” his father had told him, “And don’t come out until I get you.”
Adrian did as he was told, and curled into a corner behind his mothers’ silk dresses and his fathers winter coats. He did not come out when the lights in the room beyond were flicked on, when the shouting started, when the screams brought it to an end. Adrian did not come out of the closet as the day grew brighter, and voices filled the room with talk of homicide, suicide, and other things Adrian did not understand. Adrian was still hiding in the closet when the police found him three days later. After that, memories were a blur of foster homes and street corners, dull pain and duller emotions.
In his first foster home, Adrian would not talk. He sat unmoving in the room he shared with his new sister and cried himself to sleep every night. After three months and no sign of progress, the family gave him up.
The second family gave Adrian a new brother, who was around four years older and acted as if Adrian was his personal punching bag. To stay away from him Adrian spent his days sitting with the boy’s grandmother in the attic. He watched her knit and she told him bible stories as she worked. The majority of these stories did not interest him as he found the religion boring, but when she spoke of angels he paid full attention.
His mind became filled with images of the race of beautiful, unearthly beings that guided the dead to heaven. He realized that his parents must have known the angels were coming and had hidden Adrian so that they, his parents, could be the angels to come for him. This realization made Adrian content, and he started telling the old woman stories of his own, stories filled with light, filled with happiness, stories about the angels of his dreams.
Adrian spent four years in that house, sitting in the attic talking to the old woman and avoiding his foster brother at all costs. As time passed he noticed that she was getting more and more frail, that her voice was getting quieter and weaker. On the cold January morning he climbed the stairs to find that she had stopped breathing, Adrian could not believe he had lost another person he had loved. Sitting in the empty attic, he closed his heart to all emotions, deciding that living with the pain of loss was worse than never feeling love again. After the funeral the family brought him back to the state home, telling him that they needed time alone to grieve. Adrian did not cry.
Over the next four years Adrian was sent to a large number of families, but to him they all seemed the same. He attended school, but didn’t let himself make any good friends. He was polite to everyone, he got decent grades, but it seemed as if everything was on mute.
His dreams were the only time he felt emotion, the only time he saw true colors, and the only time he really felt alive.
By the time he was 13 Adrian had fled his ninth foster home to live on the street. For two years he ate from the trash and washed himself in fountains. He slept on benches and sidewalks, dreaming of angels. He did anything he could to get money because it didn’t matter what happened to his body as long as he had somewhere to dream. He made friends with the other teens on the street, because as long as he had his secret angels no one could hurt him.
The winter Adrian turned fifteen he decided to hitchhike to New York. He was waiting by a lonely highway somewhere in North Carolina when he was picked up by the twins. They called themselves Cain and Abel and told him they were nineteen. They brought him to their one room apartment in Manhattan and told him he could stay as long as he wanted.
The three of them spent months of long afternoons languishing in the heated apartment, Adrian thinking of angels as he watched the twins braid glittering strands of tinsel into each other’s hair. In the nighttime he dreamed alone in the bed they all shared as Cain and Abel danced in dimly lit clubs and collected money from the very people who glared at their beauty in the sunlight. They would come home in the early morning and sleep while Adrian made their breakfast. On the days when they didn’t work Cain and Abel injected hypnotic substances into each other’s veins and took Adrian to clubs full of stunning painted faces and music that demanded Adrian listen to it.
The twins persuaded Adrian back to life with soft words and bright smiles, and color found its way back to him. He began look forward to the day as much as the night. Soon he found himself telling the twins stories of angels as they braided his hair into glittering strands and dusted his eyelids with moonlight.
For almost a year Adrian watched the twins dance and do each other’s make-up, watched them shine, but he knew that beings as perfect as them could not stay with him for long. When the snow started to fall, Adrian kissed them both and watched as they clasped hands and leaped off the top of the building. He would not look at the street as he walked back into the empty apartment, for he knew that Abel and Cain had spread their wings before they hit the unforgiving pavement. That night, Adrian cried himself to sleep for the first time in over ten years.
He dreamed of angels.
His father had shaken him awake in the cloying heat of summer midnight, had explained in hushed tones that Adrian needed to go sit in the closet and be quiet as the spiders that occupied the dark musty space.
“Just pretend you’re playing hide and seek,” his father had told him, “And don’t come out until I get you.”
Adrian did as he was told, and curled into a corner behind his mothers’ silk dresses and his fathers winter coats. He did not come out when the lights in the room beyond were flicked on, when the shouting started, when the screams brought it to an end. Adrian did not come out of the closet as the day grew brighter, and voices filled the room with talk of homicide, suicide, and other things Adrian did not understand. Adrian was still hiding in the closet when the police found him three days later. After that, memories were a blur of foster homes and street corners, dull pain and duller emotions.
In his first foster home, Adrian would not talk. He sat unmoving in the room he shared with his new sister and cried himself to sleep every night. After three months and no sign of progress, the family gave him up.
The second family gave Adrian a new brother, who was around four years older and acted as if Adrian was his personal punching bag. To stay away from him Adrian spent his days sitting with the boy’s grandmother in the attic. He watched her knit and she told him bible stories as she worked. The majority of these stories did not interest him as he found the religion boring, but when she spoke of angels he paid full attention.
His mind became filled with images of the race of beautiful, unearthly beings that guided the dead to heaven. He realized that his parents must have known the angels were coming and had hidden Adrian so that they, his parents, could be the angels to come for him. This realization made Adrian content, and he started telling the old woman stories of his own, stories filled with light, filled with happiness, stories about the angels of his dreams.
Adrian spent four years in that house, sitting in the attic talking to the old woman and avoiding his foster brother at all costs. As time passed he noticed that she was getting more and more frail, that her voice was getting quieter and weaker. On the cold January morning he climbed the stairs to find that she had stopped breathing, Adrian could not believe he had lost another person he had loved. Sitting in the empty attic, he closed his heart to all emotions, deciding that living with the pain of loss was worse than never feeling love again. After the funeral the family brought him back to the state home, telling him that they needed time alone to grieve. Adrian did not cry.
Over the next four years Adrian was sent to a large number of families, but to him they all seemed the same. He attended school, but didn’t let himself make any good friends. He was polite to everyone, he got decent grades, but it seemed as if everything was on mute.
His dreams were the only time he felt emotion, the only time he saw true colors, and the only time he really felt alive.
By the time he was 13 Adrian had fled his ninth foster home to live on the street. For two years he ate from the trash and washed himself in fountains. He slept on benches and sidewalks, dreaming of angels. He did anything he could to get money because it didn’t matter what happened to his body as long as he had somewhere to dream. He made friends with the other teens on the street, because as long as he had his secret angels no one could hurt him.
The winter Adrian turned fifteen he decided to hitchhike to New York. He was waiting by a lonely highway somewhere in North Carolina when he was picked up by the twins. They called themselves Cain and Abel and told him they were nineteen. They brought him to their one room apartment in Manhattan and told him he could stay as long as he wanted.
The three of them spent months of long afternoons languishing in the heated apartment, Adrian thinking of angels as he watched the twins braid glittering strands of tinsel into each other’s hair. In the nighttime he dreamed alone in the bed they all shared as Cain and Abel danced in dimly lit clubs and collected money from the very people who glared at their beauty in the sunlight. They would come home in the early morning and sleep while Adrian made their breakfast. On the days when they didn’t work Cain and Abel injected hypnotic substances into each other’s veins and took Adrian to clubs full of stunning painted faces and music that demanded Adrian listen to it.
The twins persuaded Adrian back to life with soft words and bright smiles, and color found its way back to him. He began look forward to the day as much as the night. Soon he found himself telling the twins stories of angels as they braided his hair into glittering strands and dusted his eyelids with moonlight.
For almost a year Adrian watched the twins dance and do each other’s make-up, watched them shine, but he knew that beings as perfect as them could not stay with him for long. When the snow started to fall, Adrian kissed them both and watched as they clasped hands and leaped off the top of the building. He would not look at the street as he walked back into the empty apartment, for he knew that Abel and Cain had spread their wings before they hit the unforgiving pavement. That night, Adrian cried himself to sleep for the first time in over ten years.
He dreamed of angels.