I gasped as I watched the young boy lift the rock from the ground and approach the small dog. It huddled in the corner of the abandoned lot, its tail between its legs, whimpering. He raised his arm, preparing to nail the dog as hard as he possibly could. I wouldn't stand back and let this happen. Extending my great wings, I dove down between the boy and the puppy, grabbing the child's leg as I went. He fell hard when I tripped him, and the dog went scampering away as fast as it could.
"Damn it, Fera! Stop that," someone scolded from behind.
"Sorry," I said, drooping my beautifully groomed black wings behind my back, landing softly on the green grass. However, I couldn't feel the comforting blades tickling my feet. I sighed quietly and turned to face my mentor.
"Get that sorry-ass look off your face, Fera. We have work to do," he said, nodding to the young boy still seated on the stiff ground.
Being on Earth again was tough. Ever since that night with my friend Gina, my life had been all too different.
The night had started normally; just me and my best friend, getting stoned as usual 16-year-olds would at a sleepover. After a few drinks off of an extremely alcoholic drink Gina liked to call the Terminator, we were just about ready to go after Al-Qaeda ourselves. So naturally when she begins talking about religion, I just laugh and nod, along for the ride I suppose.
I'd always been aware Gina was Satanic. But as for myself, I don't really have a religion. Of course, this was all Gina wanted to talk about. My mind had been somewhere else entirely. Honestly, I can't recall just about anything said that night. However I distinctly remember her taking my wrists in her hands and looking me dead in the eye.
"Are you sure this is what you want?" She'd asked, as serious as she could look with bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils.
I think I nodded, but I don't remember.
My memory from that night is sketchy.
I remember this, though. She'd gotten out a camera. She wanted to make sure that if anything went wrong, her big sister would find it and know what had happened.
I remember watching that tape sober. Hungover, but sober nonetheless.
A few chants had been made. Gina spoke as sure as if she were dry. Which, of course, neither of us were. Unless she'd been taking dry tokes. I'd kill her if she was dry, leading me on and on like that.
But I digress.
She'd taken my wrists again. She had a pocket knife. I'd flinched, and she'd reassured my safety. No! No, I screamed now, playing the tape back again in my mind.
With one quick, fluid motion, she ran the razor's sharp blade over my smooth, yet cut-scarred skin. It's untouched blade left a large gash in its wake, gushing blood.
I'd screamed. Then I'd laughed. Then, with wide eyes, I'd simply watched, awe-struck, as Gina turned my arm over and let my thick, scarlet blood flow onto a sheet of parchment, on which I forget what was written.
Then, with the flick of a lighter, the page (and my blood) went up in flames, leaving a charred ring in its place. The video tape shuddered. The curtains in Gina's room rose with a wind that never actually existed. My hair fluttered a bit and then settled.
And then Gina fell to the floor, dead.