Chapter 6

I can’t go back to what I use to call home, though I have tried. My life takes place amongst the streets. The crime becomes my neighbor and the murders my lovers. The disappearances and murders started a few weeks ago, when I first left the cavern. The humans turning up dead in abandoned sewers, their blood intertwined with our water falls. At first the cops thought there was a pattern, maybe it was the rich or the poor. They were wrong. There was no pattern, it was every one of us; the sinners. Which means every one of us dies. Flashing cop lights brighten the sidewalks and caution tape blocks your path. My hood is soaked from last nights and my stomach growls at sights of nourishment. I’ve tried to return to my cavern hoping for any sight of life, but I’m refuted every time I enter. The blood smears my once known cave and human body parts cover the floor. Imperfect Angels do not require blood to live; we actually don’t need it at all. Few Imperfects feed on the cells; if they do it is for luxury and pleasure, rather than need. There was growling and chewing, crunching on the membrane. Whatever life was once there had been changed to horrifying creatures. There eyes glowed with a fierce red and their skin had turned dead purple; exposing bits of rotten muscle; their movements frantic and erratic. Those sickening flashbacks float in my mind. I close my eyes as I shallow my saliva. A newspaper rolls across the ground and clings to my leg. The paper is damp and as some of the ink rubs off on my palms I can still make out the missing human on the front page. Her name was Dakota Wheeler; she was 10 years old, ready to start the fourth grade. Her smiling face burns my memory, bright teeth and blonde pigtails. A tear drops onto her face as I stagger over to the wall. Vomit burns my throat and he I heave into the nearest trash can. A quiet sob escapes my mouth and I whisper, “She’s only a little girl.” I hear their wings air out as they pierce the sky; looking for their next meal. Disgusting. This is not what we are all about. We were born mortal, born human, and now the few pathetic weaklings our community harbored is feeding on them; the blood lust is spreading. We’re Imperfects, not vampires. Our transformations the same, but we’re not monsters. Are we? The process of becoming the dead, yet the undead is always your first step towards your new flaws. The kind heart that you once had is torn from your valves and tossed to the cannibals; leaving you cold and heartless. Your humanity and ethics rendered hopeless. Your wings become your best friend and your next contemporary accessory. Inhabited in the community, the Imperfects are just as young as they were when they became Imperfects, few making it to the age of maturity. The mistakes are bigger and greater than a regular adolescent. Any slip up costing you your life and many ending before your eyes. You try not to make friends knowing they’ll be dead by morning, either from the help of alcohol or drugs. Our tendencies and thoughts are like a child’s, experiencing new things and never knowing what to do with it; the alcohol to forget your new problems and the drugs to fog our freakish stimulations and bring new highs.  Never wanting to fall back to depths from which we came. No one’s there to save us, no one’s there to pick us up. We’re all on our own leaving us to wither away. Our God has given up, stepping in on occasion, their maestro stepping in where our God left off.

We as Imperfects are wanted by no human. We’ve committed to much sin to be a guardian angel, yet if you have dignity or self-respect working for the devil is not your highest goal. You’re his puppet, nothing more. The Imperfect Angels were his idea, transforming young children and teenagers into the undead to do his dirty work. He gave us an option, for children’s whose lives were bad and he knew we would take it up. Teenagers he thought on the other hand were hopeless; we had no future and were an easy target.  We were just kids learning our way; we didn’t deserve this. As I remembered the past, a shrill scream interrupts my thoughts. My eyes darted towards an alley a few blocks ahead of me, a second scream rang out through the air, as I saw a figure devouring a miniature shadow. I should have gone to this person’s aid. I knew I should go, but I was scared of what I would encounter. She screamed again, this time louder than the first as if it was her last. I crept along the brick wall coming closer to the alley way. The bricks rough texture scraping my palm. I hear crunching and slurping from around the corner and I pause in my tracks. Flashbacks of torn limbs from my cavern creep back into my thoughts. My ethics waiver, leaning more towards the wrong, saving her would the honest thing to do, but I don’t want to be a hero….I just want….to be….normal.

I’m in the alleyway before I know it, blood plasters the wall and bone fragments are scattered across the ground. I feel like I’m in a daze and my feet are moving without my jurisdiction. My hand feels something sharp glide across it, but my eyes stay fixed ahead of me. A figure crouched down in the near corner, dissipating a thick red liquid. His head snaps in my direction and blood runs from his mouth. He growls as he opens his jaw, releasing a horrific screech. His eyes, redden with a coral tinge, hurling a torn limb at the wall, he rushes towards me; his eyes targeting my chest and heart. I stand there staring at what’s coming at me, never moving. His head slams into my chest and I choke on my breath. My lungs cave in and his nails dig into my neck and throat. As I regain my senses I fight back, digging my index finer into his right eye. The creature staggers back in pain and I scramble to my feet running for help. As a sentence tries to escape my throat, my body hits the ground as I fall peril to my injuries. The creature rushes out of the alleyway and stops midway in the street. As he peers upon my vulnerable state, he stands there frozen; as if confused of what to do next. A piercing sound whistle’s through the air and I shake in misery. What the hell is that sound? As I look over at the monster, I notice he is in my same position; screeching and rolling around in agony. How could a creature or monster so vile experience the same anguish as I? As the pain rushed through my head and ears, his galling shadow appears; smirking, raving at my torment. He blew the whistle once more, as I doubled over in pain. Walking behind his pet, he pats his head and rolls up his shirt sleeve, exposing a naked wrist. His darling bites into a vein, devouring his treat, blood drips from his fangs as he raises his head up for air. His tongue darts in the inside of his mouth, savoring any drop of blood he may find. I stared at my past loves face, the one I thought so highly of.  As my eyes rolled over his physical exterior the wrinkles he once had, and the scar of past and recent brawls. They made him look older, more mature, not an attractive decrepit, yet it made him appear softer and more understanding. The tenderness fades and a laugh escapes his vocals. “Well, well, well look who we have here. Hello young armour.” I tremble at the sight of his face, appalled at what he might do next. With the snap of his fingers his pet is on top of me at once, snarling as drool leaks from the crevice’s of his mouth. I don’t know what to do. I put my hands up in an effortless defense as the darling slaps them away, biting, yelling, and screeching. I close my eyes trying to escape my undying doom. My flashbacks once again crowd my mind, drawing me back to the first day we met. His tall stature shadowed the door, before finally walking in. A mysterious glow radiated from his skin. I wanted to help him, hug him, touch him and as this emotion hardened, weighing heavy on my heart, he looked at me. A hazel alleviation calmed my inclination sending me into a whirlpool. The rest of the semester was the same, flirtatious movements, and jealous games. I had a boyfriend already, but he never registered in my mind when I was with him. I felt bad at times, playing with one’s heart, but I was young. It was that day before the last day of school that he asked me out. I’ll always remember it; it was the greatest day of my life. I experienced what love was, for the first time. A terrific river of endless kisses, his touch sending my skin into seizures; it still does. I don’t know what happened then, there was talk of marriage and the airforce. I knew, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I had never wanted to get married and he would change me. I would become a housewife or worse, an army wife. I was terrified, I wanted him forever, but I wanted to follow my dreams first and losing him to the airforce or the war was not one of them. I left it. I walked away from him and everything I had once held dear. I should have went back, I guess I could have, but my pride clouded my decisions and actions. I went throughout the next year down a list of guys and terrible mistakes. I needed him there, but there was no way I was going back to him after what I had done. I couldn’t have made up for it. My birthday was upon me before I knew it, taking me back to my last experience with him; going throughout the day regretting my decision once again. Walking around in a daze, I floated from classroom to classroom, thinking of my own dismay. A certain ping pulled me back from my own thoughts, pulling out my cell phone; I realized it was from him. My heart leaped and then melted, it turned dark.  What if he just wanted revenge? To make me feel the same way I had made him feel? To hurt me? My guard went up and we started arguing. He yelled, I yelled. Amazed at what a text message could say. I didn’t want to deal with him anymore. He apologized the next day. It went back to being how it use to be, flirtatious movements and jealous games. Only this time we were both hurting someone besides ourselves. I was the other woman, the mistress. She loved him and in return he had broken her heart, over me, just for me. She hated me, yet could I blame her? I had taken the one person away who she had loved the most. I thought of myself and how it would have made me feel. The thought made me shudder and quiver. We were together again happy and in love… that’s what I thought. When he looked at me, he seemed genuinely and truly…happy. When I got the call, I was wrong. I was, for once, not the other woman, but the saddened girl on the other line. He came back to me a month later, telling me of how they hadn’t been together that long and everything else that would calm my mind.  It never did, her voice and face…..them two together, it was always there. It continued like this for months, late-night visit, all day conversations, meaningful kisses, but the pain never went away. The trust has never come back. As the tears floated to my eyes, I blinked, wondering how long my flashbacks had had me on hold. His pet was by his side like a loyal mutt, licking his lips for his next tasty morsel. His master sat in front of me, a humanistic look revealing his true features. A sob escaped my throat and a hand clasped over my mouth. I looked down to see if it was his hand, but it was my own. As the tears flowed down my cheeks, my lungs collapsed, my breath becoming shallow. He sat there, a worried gaze glazing his pupils, but just as soon as it appeared, it vanished; that red gleam taking over, indicating his master’s influence. As I tried to speak the words hung on my tongue, heavy with desire. My eyes fluttered and his figure was gone.