12 June 2012
Ryan Driving down the street on my motorbike, I almost felt like smiling for the first time this week. But then it started raining, and the smile died before it was born. Cursing the weather, I picked up speed until my house was almost right in front of me, and so had to brake sharply. I got off the bike, glad not to have gone head first over the handle bars, when I saw a flash of lightening. I listened for thunder, but heard nothing. And then I realised where I'd seen the lightening go. It had hit the roof of my house. Which seemed strange. I raced to the door, hastily unlocked it and sprinted up the stairs, wondering if the lightening had caused something, or if it was simply my imagination that it had struck my house. Either way, I had to know now. When I reached the top of the stairs, I wondered why I could hear no sound of burning - lightening meant fire, right? I wasn't sure. Pulling down the hatch - which would release the ladder so that I could enter the attic - I listened again for the crackling of a fire. Anything to shed a little light on what I had to expect. I heard breathing. Confused, I climbed the ladder. What had been breathing? Nothing in here was big enough to breath that heavily. The only thing I could think that was in there was spiders. Then, as I was about to pull myself into the attic to investigate, I heard laboured breathing, followed by a short shriek that lasted no longer than a moment. Then a whimper, before slightly-closer-to-normal breathing. I stood up in the attic, confused. Then I noticed a faint light coming from over in the corner. The window in the attic roof wasn't the source of the light - there was a new moon tonight, so it was completely dark, and there wasn't a working light switch up here. What was that making the light then? Walking towards it, I saw a girl around my own age, 16 or so, lying on the floor - and it seemed like she was the one making the light. Which was unbelievable. But she seemed to shine from within, a golden light. It was beautiful, but confusing. Why was she shining? She looked at me, and focused her eyes for a second or so. "Alec? Is that you?" She whispered faintly. I kneeled beside her, and said "I'm sorry, I don't know who that is. But don't worry, I'm sure they'll pick you up from the police station." She was obviously confused - maybe the police could find out who she was? I certainty didn't know her. At this the girl shook her head furiously. I noticed that she wore a cream and ivory coloured dress, and that down one side there were lots of red lines, especially in large patches closer to her left side and left leg and on the shoulder were there was a large patch of red. Then I realised it wasn't red on her dress, because the red was travelling down the dress. It was her blood. "Oh my god! Your bleeding!" I gasped, seeing the large, long lines of her blood for what they really were as they trailed down her dress, and around her left side lay a small pool of dark red blood. She nodded slightly, before whispering "Please..." But I couldn't hear what she was saying. I leaned closer, and she raised a hand to my chest weakly, as she whispered in my ear. "I'm sorry." I looked at her for a moment, before grabbing my phone. Just as I was about to key in the number for the emergency services, she put a hand on my arm. "No." She said, her frail voice attempting to sound commanding. "But your wounded!?" I said, confused. Did she not want help? She shook her head. "They will make it worse." She tried to sit up, but made a pained noise when she had to move her shoulder, and lay back down again. "Don't move - your hurt." I said sternly, even though she probably already knew she was hurt. But she was in such a state, she might not even realise. "I need to go outside." She whispered. I paused. If she wasn't going to let me call the hospital, at least I could take her outside, or give her some cocodamol, paracetamol or something. And anyway, mom should be home soon, and she's a doctor. I nodded. "Okay, I'll carry you." I said, knowing she'd be in pain walking with an injury. She might not even be able to walk. I slipped my hand under her neck, and my other arm under the crook in her knees, and slowly scooped her up. That was when I noticed something else unusual about her. Something that hit me in the face as I picked her up. Her wings.
Once I'd taken her downstairs and laid her on the sofa - by this point she was unconscious, and it was raining outside, so I couldn't leave her outside as she'd wanted - I had time to really think about what had just happened. When I'd lifted her, her left wing - which had previously been pinned behind her back, along with the right one - had sprung free, with such force that when it hit me I almost dropped her. I'd been stunned and surprised, but she'd just whispered 'Sorry' over and over again - at least until half-way down the stairs, but I think that's when she fell unconscious. So I'd taken her downstairs, gently placed her on the sofa, and looked at her shoulder. Now I may not be a doctor, but I'm not blind either. And I could tell that she didn't just get that wound from falling over - it looked pretty deep. It also went through her left wing - which was both strange and terrifying at he same moment. The left wing - besides when it had hit me - had mostly just hung limply from her back, while the right had almost seemed to curl around her. I wasn't sure what was up with the left; was it broken or something? And why hadn't she wanted me to call the hospital? Was it because of her wings? She stirred slightly, almost falling off the sofa. I kneeled beside her, gently pushing her back onto it. She smiled in her sleep, and I found myself realising just how beautiful she was. She had pale blonde hair - almost white, or maybe closer to a golden colour - that fell down her shoulders in waves, and green eyes the colour of new leaves in spring - although they were hidden at the moment, as her eyes were closed - which was a great contrast to her fair skin, but she was probably paler than normal due to blood loss. She was small, but that could've been because she was curled up, or because her wings seemed massive. But I suppose they weren't, really, when you think about it. They'd have to be big to enable for flight, right? What was the point of wings if you couldn't fly with them? They were a pale shade of white or gold, almost a slightly blond colour, like her hair but lighter. The wing tips just touched her feet, and could bunch in at her back very tightly - so the wing that hit me had demonstrated. The blood coated the nearby feathers, whereas the actual area that had been bleeding was missing feathers. It looked painful, even if I didn't know how wings were supposed to function. The girls eyes snapped open, to see me staring at her shoulder. "Where am I?" she asked weakly but bravely. When I tried to answer (apparently hearing 'In Phoenix' wasn't what she'd wanted to hear) she demanded "What section?" This earned her a confused looked. "Section?" I asked. She nodded, seeming sure of herself. "I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean." I told her, sure she was confused again. She looked me in the eye, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Where are we? Precisely. Be detailed." I shrugged, figuring no harm could come from telling her. "17 Blackwell close, NN7 8TT, Phoenix, North America, Earth. Okay?" I said, wondering if that had been specific enough for her. She gasped slightly, before beginning to furiously shake her head. "No. No. No, no, no, no, no no no no no no no no no no..." She continued to whisper the word, fearfully. She sat up, wincing as her shoulder and wing hurt her. Her wings stretched slightly, and she swung her legs around and attempted to stand, but it seemed her left leg couldn't hold her weight, and she tumbled to the ground. I helped her back up again (noticing she was still whispering 'no') and put her back on the sofa, with her wings tucked in behind her. But this time, I noticed that the trails of blood running down her left leg weren't just from her shoulder, but also from something else. It seemed her leg was also badly injured. No wonder she'd fallen.
After a while (though god knows how long) it seemed that the girl had passed out again. I lifted her leg into the air, but the flow of blood didn't slow. So, after quickly cleaning the wound, I wrapped some cloth tightly around her leg, just above the area where the blood was coming from, so as to try to stop the flow of blood. I know using a tourniquet is a last resort idea, but there was so much blood that I was worried she might die of blood loss, so having to have her leg amputated was probably the better option. And it did work, mostly stopping the blood. However, I was unable to do anything for her shoulder - which thankfully wasn't bleeding as badly now - and I had no idea what to do for a wing. But she hadn't wanted to go to hospital, so I didn't know what to do beyond that.
I heard a car pull into the street, and pulled back the curtains to see a dark blue Vauxhall Vectra appear in the window. Mom! I thought joyously. Finally! She would know what to do! So I flung open the door, and walked out to meet her as she stepped out of the car. Only then did I think about how she might react to a wounded winged girl being in our house - one I didn't even know the name of. Hopefully though, mom wouldn't care about that when she saw that the girl was wounded, and anyway, her wings were pressed tightly against her back. Hopefully she wouldn't even notice. But that was unlikely.
Crossfire.1. • Opuss № I