dream
"You're a monster..."
There was a hand around her wrist, pushing her back into a creaking old mattress, sour, foul breath breathing down her neck. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying so hard to ignore it. To ignore the foul, evil evil words he was whispering into her ear. She wished she didn't know what those words meant, that she had never been this way. That she wasn't special, someone's experiment, someone's little pet to take home and abuse. She wished that she wasn't special.
She wished she wasn't such a special little monster.
The tiny hollow bones in her wings pinching between the bare mattress springs and her spine as she twisted away, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried so very hard not to cry. They liked it when you cried. The teeth on her throat felt not like a human's, but like an animal's.
Like a dog's.
And the foul stench of alcohol and cheap cologne faded, turning into blood and fire and ash and gunpowder and the teeth pressed into her skin harder, pulling her up from the back of her neck, pulling her upright from the mattress - the mattress that was never there - like a bitch pulling its pup up to move it away, to move it somewhere safe. Her whole body felt limp, weightless, like for the first time those wings sprouting out of her back could really work, like she was an angel. She was at peace, through the pounding of guns in her ears and the final rattle of breath as a man slumped against a wall, staring up at her, his blood nothing more than a smeared trail down the wall behind him. The man that smelled of alcohol and evil and cheap cologne. The man that had said those evil horrible things to her.
Another hand was at her wrist now. One holding her, not to hold her down, but one to keep her safe, the hand was white, white as the feathers in those damned wings, but there was nothing more, no person attached, no arm coming up from that hand, simply at hand at her wrist.
And with his final breath the man simply said:
"You're a monster..."