The passage through the waterfall
He felt the air caress his skin, sending his black hair with force back and making his blue eyes tear from the speed. He shut his lids and allowed his body to fly through a grey cloud, emerging with the smoke-like cloud around his body, opening his eyes to look at the sky as he collected his wings close to his body, floating momentarily like a star frozen in the dark velvet sky. Gravity took over after a few seconds of serenity, dragging his body to fall towards the ground, feeling as if his heart was dropping faster than he was. The dark forest was coming dangerously closer towards him, pulling him to the ground, whispering in his ear how close he was to dying.
He opened his wings a few meters before the collision and so he landed, a little unevenly with him tripping to the front, fighting with gravity to maintain his balance and not fall. His angel wings were sprouting large from his back and he allowed himself to collapse back at the clearing, feeling the crystal-like waterdrops the grass had gathered due to the moisture of the atmosphere, cold against his naked back. That was enough to remind him he had to start looking for his shirt, trying to remember at which tree he had hung that shirt of his, so he took a breath to calm down his heart from beating so fast and stood up.
He began wandering in the forest, looking for the tree and wondering why he thought it would be a good idea to leave his shirt at a random tree in a forest, a place filled with hundreds of trees. He surely wasn't the brightest, so it seemed, as he was murmuring such thing to himself, clearly disappointed for that decision he had made. The angel had to keep his wings closer to his body the deeper he was walking into the forest, the dead leaves under him screaming their last breaths under his feet crashing them, the sound coming a little weirdly to his ears, as if... He suddenly stopped moving, listening in and finally understanding why the sound was odd; there was someone else walking there, stopping a few seconds after he did so. His heart skipped a beat with worry and fear to the realization that someone else was there.
And so, the young angel began walking faster and faster, feeling a need to get as far away from the figure as possible, not wanting to face it nonetheless as if that would be enough to stop the other from hurting him. But there was something, call it curiosity, that prompted him to look over his shoulder, unable to see anything and, by turning to look to the front ahead, something covered his face, stunning him for a mere second. That seemed to be enough for whoever was there to catch up, causing the man to feel a shadow creeping to his side, his hands violently removing the clothing from his face and he began running, away from the presence. It felt as if something dead was next to him, as if something cold and dangerous tried to reach out for him but it wasn't fast enough. Holding the clothing with his hand, he managed to find a second clearing, this one larger than the previous, and he was finally able to reach for the one thing that made him feel safe: the sky.
He jumped up and his wings carried him to safety with a sharp movement, his heart beating faster and faster just with the thought that the creature could be right behind him, ready to catch him before he'd be high enough in the air. But he was fortunate enough, or maybe fast enough, to escape it and, looking down, he was able to see the form of the one chasing him: it was a shadow, a creature he had never encountered before, now screaming defeated in the middle of the clearing. The creature was looking up, its arms scratching the air, a scream so deafening and high pitched that the man had to cover his ears with his hands.
What was that? He had heard about these shadow-creatures but he had never encountered one, surely he didn't expect to see one in the forest, especially not chasing after him like that. The thought to ask his father about it crossed his mind but he doubted that his old man would appreciate to learn that his son had met such creature. He had to persuade himself to look the other way and fly higher and away, the air making the scratches from the branches hurt a little but he knew it wouldn't be that bad in a few minutes. He was able to see the church he lived at from the distance and, at last, he let himself feel relieved that he'd be home, where he could feel safe.
He landed on the cross at the roof of the church, his wings close to his body yet again, only this time it wasn't to protect them from the trees and instead to calm himself down a little. He looked at the backyard, where the graveyard assigned to the church was, looking at the graves; there were graves that their families had long forgotten about them, leaving them empty and alone, while there were also graves with people visiting them every week, leaving fresh flowers behind and taking care of the last home of their loved ones.
The silence was only broken by the church's clock indicating the time was three past midnight, the first bell ringing loud to his ears and surprising him enough to almost make him all from the cross. The second ring made his hands grip the edge of the cross tighter and the third was as if it forced his wings to spread wide from his back, allowing himself to drop to a short free-fall before he used his wings as a mechanic to land smoother. It was way later than he had imagined and he knew he'd be in trouble if he was seen by anyone, so running through the graveyard to the church's entrance was the only thin that seemed logical at the moment, his hand that still held the clothing from earlier began sweating, giving his mind a pass to realise that, all this time, he was holding his own shirt.
Collecting his wings, allowing him to hide back to the scars at his back, and putting on his own shirt seemed the only logical thing for him to do next. Just when he entered the church and began running towards the staircase that would lead to the first floor, there was a loud shout of his name that caused him to trip on the shiny floor, falling on the ground. "Christopher!" the voice echoed imposing, so loud and clear that he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard a thing. He felt the figure of the priest and teacher of the church approaching him slowly, standing right above him and looking down at him. "Get up" he said with a voice dripping with anger, if anything. Chris obeyed and stood up as quickly as he had fallen, looking at the priest. "To my office. Now" the older man said with a matter-of-factly tone, prompting Chris to worry about his safety after what would follow.
Chris tried to maintain his pace as similar to that of the priest's, looking at his sneakers, but it was a little difficult to walk as slow as the other did. The only thing he could hear was his own heart, beating fast enough to reveal how he was scared of having to face the wrath of the priest. He wondered whether the other could hear his heart as well, was it beating so loud? Chris had to stop his thoughts from taking over in order to pay attention to what was happening around him, with the priest opening the heavy door that led to his office and holding it open for him to enter first, thing that he did slowly, making sure to throw an apologetic look to the man.
The room was small but cold, mainly thanks to the window that was left open in the middle of the night, allowing the cold to take over and conceal the once more welcoming office. The ground was wooden and a heavy desk was standing in the middle of the room, accompanied by one chair at each side, each meant for a different person to sit at. "You know the procedure" the priest said, motioning towards the chair at the one side of the desk while he took a seat at the other one, the more comfortable one. "What is your excuse this time?" he asked, looking as Chris was looking at his fingers, playing nervously with them.
He had to repeat his question in an attempt to get an answer from Chris, who seemed a little preoccupied looking curiously at the small pile of papers on top of the desk, making out the name of the person who had sent the letter under the golden letter opener: Taylor McConor. "Chris!" the priest almost growled, making the boy perk up and look at him. "Sorry" he mumbled, realizing that he was lost in his own thoughts once again. He didn't answer to the question he never heard, so he remained silent and simply stared at the man in front of him, trying to find of an excuse whatsoever, a force of his nature. "This is the fourth time this week, Chris. One time you couldn't sleep, the other you heard a cat meowing, the third you thought someone was in the church- now what, you decided to mop the floor?" Chris hated when the priest was yelling at him, he hated being scolded at but he knew that there was worry and care behind that strict tone.
"If I told you I wanted to broom instead, would you believe me?" Chris murmured and he felt his body flinching to the yell that his joke received. "Damn it, Chris, I'm your father and I'm worried about you! I don't like waking up in the middle of the night with you missing and not knowing where you are!" he said, almost screaming, something that he was generous about. He wanted to point out that they got the title of father/son the same day, but instead he decided to repeat the one thing he knew had a chance to work in a situation like this. "I said I'm sorry." And silence followed his apology, held tightly by both men, only broken by the older man "Your mother would be very disappointed, were she here-" he began, interrupted by the mere eye roll of his son, although he fact that his voice had returned to being calm didn't seem that the concertation was going to be any easier. "She's not though, I wonder why you even bring her up" Chris retorted, folding his arms over his chest. "You might not like the idea she left, but she had to"
"Yeah, I know, the Seraphim" Chris interrupted yet again, clearly not feeling comfortable with the idea of talking about his absent mother and the fact that the younger boy was avoiding his father's gaze was enough to prompt silence from the other. "I better go to my room" Chris dragged the words, speaking barely through his lips as he stood up, turning around and heading towards the still open door, only to freeze there when hi father called for him. "Chris" he said calmly, the priest looking with soft eyes at his son. "Where were you?" he asked one more time, among the many he had made that question only that past week. "Out" Chris replied simply, not in the mood to continue talking. "Final answer?" The priest insisted and watched as the boy just nodded his head. "Very good. You know, it's still a little early to go to sleep, why don't you go pay some respect to your mother's grave, huh? Clean the place a little bit" the priest said, with an annoyed tone at his voice, yet somehow vengeful to the behavior he was receiving from his son. Chris looked shocked before exiting quickly the office, the door slamming shut behind him.
* * *
After he arrived at the graveyard, at the back of the church, he found the grave that was decorated with his mother's name: Melissa Harper Gray and he was able to only react with one way to what he had to see, "Why do you have a grave? You're not inside, you're not even dead" which wasn't a lie. His mother was forced to leave them for reason he still didn't quite understand. He knew that some creatures didn't approve of the relationship she and his father had, a demon and an angel having family together? That wasn't right, according to them, and so this family wasn't right either. If he wanted to be honest, Chris didn't even know why he had developed such hate for that woman, maybe it was the easier thing to do growing up, as he couldn't exactly blame the angels above him in hierarchy for breaking the family he had.
His hands were ripping the wild weeds that had began growing around the fake grave, the one his father only built as a place for them to remember and talk to her, even though she couldn't be with them, yet Chris could never understand it. If his father was so eager to believe the best for her, and that she'd return one day, why build her a grave? Why grieve, why weep for her, why miss her? He sighed, feeling his head spinning with tiredness, developing a headache just by having to maintain his eyes open and focus on an action. His hands were pressed against the soil, feeling it cold under his fingers, his yawn only succeeding in making him feel even more tired. No one would notice if he was to take a break and nap, right? So the male leant back against the gravestone, his eyes shutting faster than he could control them and soon, his mind faded to the dark world of sleeping.
Something tickled his nose, causing him to sneeze and drag him out of his little dreamland, thus he opened annoyed his eyes to see who had interrupted the sweet sleep of his. No one but a butterfly dressed in flames. A butterfly on fire? She was flying close to him, radiating her warmth against his skin, a warmth welcome in the cold, moonless night. Was he still asleep? How could the butterfly be on fire and still fly around like that, unless she was a supernatural creature like him. The boy smiled tiredly at the animal, reaching up towards her to reach for the dust that seemed to fall behind the butterfly, only to realise it was ash. Was she truly burning?
He was looking at her as if she had put a spell on him, shaking his hand to allow the ash to fall on the ground instead, his blue eyes locked on the flaming butterfly, only to watch her as she began flying higher and higher. "Hey, wait" he muttered, not sure why, given that the butterfly wouldn't be able to understand him. She only continued to fly further away, not caring that he wanted to follow her, hence he stood up and began following her, captivated by the rare existence of hers. She was flying so sloppily around, allowing him to follow her without having to run, seeing that she was leading him towards a very specific grave only for her to land on top of the grey stone, batting softly her wings made of fire. Chris frowned his eyebrows, his head tilted slightly to the side in order to make out the words on the stone.
Taylor McConor. The image of the letter at his father's office flashed in his memory, causing him to stare with even more confusion at the grave in front of him. Could it be just a coincidence or maybe... Maybe it meant something-
But before he could even begin forming a thought, he heard a rustle behind him and then a tissue with an intense, yet pleasant smell covered his mouth and nose, making it difficult to breath anything other the sweet scent of whatever soaked the cloth. His thoughts vaporized, he tried to fight but his world was fading away quickly, his strength abandoning him. And in a few second, his body was paralyzed, the sweet scent putting him into a peaceful lethargy.
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