Then the angel stopped hurting me,
her talons changed to the colour of ice. She seemed to be temporarily drained
of her power. She had used it up torturing me, run out like a battery. I
wondered, if her power ran out like a battery, what did she do to recharge?
The angels watched. I stood up,
shaking as if I had just been electrocuted. They let me stumble towards the
trap-door and walk out. I had given them enough sadistic entertainment for one
The feathers were still in my
pockets. Mom and dad had to believe me, didn’t they? I had evidence.
I had to lie down in my room again to
try and recover from the torture I had received. It took me a long time to stop
shivering, and I was still pale and shaking when I walked downstairs to show
mom and dad the feathers that were clutched tightly in my trembling hands.
The feathers, dirty white, were the
only evidence I had that there were angels in the attic of our new house that
only revealed themselves to me and liked to torture me at every possible
opportunity. I realised that just blurting out that story to my parents was the
sort of things that wouldn’t seem out of place in a mad-house, but now that I
had some real evidence, maybe I wouldn’t seem quite as crazy. Or so I hoped.