" I love you" he wept. " why god, I love you." He was talking to himself. In his disillusioned state he only dreamt of god, a way out, an escape. If only he could cure his body then his mind would follow. If only he could kill the mistakes, make all the negative parts of his life rise to the surface like blisters, then he could burst them, one by one, making his past disappear. If only it was that simple.
The room was dark, the way he had pictured it when he first dreamt of this day. The curtains were closed, the door was locked, no one was around to possibly disturb him, or even worse try to stop him. He had taken the pills, one by one, saying good bye to each bad memory as he did. 'Good bye mum', he thought 'good bye wanker of a dad, where ever you are.' 'Good bye to myself and the pathetic things that I call my life. All I can say is that I have truly felt hate. I am an expert of Hate. I breed it in my blood then pass it on to everyone I meet who could possibly have a nice nature.' He coughed and spluttered. The pills were kicking in. Weak head and eyes rolling from side to side. A circle of sweat forming on his face.
" GOD!" he screamed, voice screeching high and low. "GOD! It's me! You remember?! You told me to love my neighbour! But they do not love me.......it's over God, over." The sound was swallowed by the solid walls and clutter of objects. � completely ver,� he whispered, taking a pair of scissors and holding them to his wings. He took the feathers in his left hand, and sliced the cartilage and bone with the other. It hurt but the pills made him numb to the reality. Doing the same to the others, the bone splintered, snapping pieces of blood and muscle onto the carpet. Falling back onto the stubs, he lay there, silent, waiting to die......
Two hours had passed. Although drifting in and out of consciousness he was still alive. Barely able to breath and in pain, but alive. The tears had set on his face, fallen pieces of anger that would scar on his skin. His cheeks were pasty, yellow in the dark light of the room. The air smelt of dried blood and unclean skin.
A fallen angel. Lay bare on the floor. Reduced to nakedness from the dirty exploitation of the human world. Bare to the fear of reality. Bare to the feel of the floor. His wings were hacked and jagged, his brain was hurt and hollow. He felt the carpet for the first time. �Rough and cutting� he thought. �how do they put up with this.� But in his eyes humans were rough and cutting, and fierce and selfish, and, and, he took a deep breath.
�Bastard god. He put me through this he could at least let me die.� Unless the irony of it was; to become a human was to die. � To die�, he thought. �I�d rather stick a knife through my heart and twist it for eternity then live amongst men.�