Intro to an old story
This is an opening scene for an original story of mine, Visions of Angels.
I.E. Angels in the Cafeteria, Demons in the Stadium, or whatever floats your boat. This is by no means a srs drama story because apparently I'm no longer capable of that. Title is iffy. Hell I don't even have names for these kids yet.
Anyway, this has been sitting on my hard drive for abooooout two years. I was writing about angels before angels were cool, man! Now i'm putting it out for a test drive.
Constructive Crit appreciated :3
An angel sat down at my lonely metal table, setting down his plastic tray with a grace no teenager should possess. With a black logo T, jeans, and dirty-blond hair, there was nothing really unsettling about this kid.
Except the wings.
They flared over his shoulders; snowy, glowing white feathers that looked like velvet to the touch draped all the way down to the scratched, laminated floor. His eyes held a spark of blue lightning, slightly covered by disheveled bangs, but I was mostly fascinated by the feathered appendages rising from his shoulder blades. My eyes swept over him again, only coming back to rest on the same spot.
Yeah, it was definitely the wings.
I stared. I could not help it. It was rude, and I probably looked slightly insane with my fork halfway to my open mouth and a dumbfounded look on my face, but somehow with him not three feet away from me I just... froze. If I shifted my foot just a little, I'd be kicking him.
I had seen angels before. When I was younger, I had been convinced I could see them. Not often, but occasionally, like during a parade or when I was a flower girl at my Aunt's wedding or at a friend's birthday party, there one appeared. They tended to show up where there were lots of people and hang out like everything was chill with the world. No one else had ever noticed them, and now I pretended to do the same. Likewise, they ignored me, and all around we had an equally apathetic, symbiotic relationship. It was easy for me to keep pretending I was sane because visions of angels did not pop up in my life all that often.
And they most certainly did not walk into local high school cafeterias and sit down right across from me.
"Hi," I finally managed, the sound a tight squeak. He was picking up his utensils and digging into his lunch as if nothing was wrong. "What are you doing?" If they were auditioning for Minny Mouse in the drama department, that line would have gotten me the part.
A eyebrow quirked at me over lumpy looking mashed potatoes. "Eating," he answered, and took a bite.
I.E. Angels in the Cafeteria, Demons in the Stadium, or whatever floats your boat. This is by no means a srs drama story because apparently I'm no longer capable of that. Title is iffy. Hell I don't even have names for these kids yet.
Anyway, this has been sitting on my hard drive for abooooout two years. I was writing about angels before angels were cool, man! Now i'm putting it out for a test drive.
Constructive Crit appreciated :3
An angel sat down at my lonely metal table, setting down his plastic tray with a grace no teenager should possess. With a black logo T, jeans, and dirty-blond hair, there was nothing really unsettling about this kid.
Except the wings.
They flared over his shoulders; snowy, glowing white feathers that looked like velvet to the touch draped all the way down to the scratched, laminated floor. His eyes held a spark of blue lightning, slightly covered by disheveled bangs, but I was mostly fascinated by the feathered appendages rising from his shoulder blades. My eyes swept over him again, only coming back to rest on the same spot.
Yeah, it was definitely the wings.
I stared. I could not help it. It was rude, and I probably looked slightly insane with my fork halfway to my open mouth and a dumbfounded look on my face, but somehow with him not three feet away from me I just... froze. If I shifted my foot just a little, I'd be kicking him.
I had seen angels before. When I was younger, I had been convinced I could see them. Not often, but occasionally, like during a parade or when I was a flower girl at my Aunt's wedding or at a friend's birthday party, there one appeared. They tended to show up where there were lots of people and hang out like everything was chill with the world. No one else had ever noticed them, and now I pretended to do the same. Likewise, they ignored me, and all around we had an equally apathetic, symbiotic relationship. It was easy for me to keep pretending I was sane because visions of angels did not pop up in my life all that often.
And they most certainly did not walk into local high school cafeterias and sit down right across from me.
"Hi," I finally managed, the sound a tight squeak. He was picking up his utensils and digging into his lunch as if nothing was wrong. "What are you doing?" If they were auditioning for Minny Mouse in the drama department, that line would have gotten me the part.
A eyebrow quirked at me over lumpy looking mashed potatoes. "Eating," he answered, and took a bite.