The weights are the main problem. Not the height. Thank whatever force there is for the wings I have. But the weights are still here, and they ain't going away anytime soon. The weights I could hold in my hands while I manage to fly up there. But then how would I be able to break through the ceiling? It looks like it's made of wood, and I could easily break through that with my wings. But with my bare hands? Forget it. And even if I managed to get up there, to hold myself there I would need to anchor myself into the wall or the ceiling with my wings, and then I would just be hanging there. Not to mention that Frederic might be up there. If he's up there, I might as well be surrendering myself to him. But if he is up there, and I manage to tear the floor out from under his feet, then I could easily drop him to his death. But then what? I would still have these 30-pound weights hanging around each of my legs, and still with broken ankles. Frederic would be taken care of, but th
The sound of breaking glass and wood, mixed in with the roar of chemical energy seems to rip the air into shreds. My body that is in the air is blown back by the force of the explosion, but my wings manage to keep me afloat in the broken air. Stone and glass fly out and some hits my skin, some breaking through it to bite the red flesh beneath. But what's worse is that Frederic is flying at me. He lands on top of me, taking us both down. I scream and try to get him off as we cartwheel through the air like mating bald eagles, but he clamps on to me with a death grip. And then he raises the blade that catches the light of the burning tower. Thinking quickly, I swivel around in a barrel-roll, managing to get him off me. He tumbles through the air and lands on the ground below with a sickening splat. I breathe out in relief, but something burns in my chest as I do. Looking down, I see the knife buried three inches deep right below my collar-bone. I shriek and pull the knife out
"You sure you're alright?" asks Meg as she helps me through the backdoor. "I think I'll be fine," I say, using just as much of her help as my wings to carry myself, "I'm not going to be walking around too much. Just hanging out in the backyard." "It probably is a good idea anyways that you get out and have some fresh air, anyways," says Meg while nodding, "cabin fever is not fun." "Well, I'd call your house a little more than just a cabin," I say with a laugh, and she joins in. "Aww, you're too kind," says Meg. She helps me maneuver to a little patio set, a table and eight chairs which I sit at one, and she also sets down a few books from school for me. "You going to be alright out here?" asks Meg, "I'm sure you'll be alright, but I just want to be sure." "I will, I promise," I say with a nod, "if I need anything, I'll make sure to shout." "I should be able to hear you," says Meg, nodding at the house, where many of the windows are open to air out the house, "I'll
The waves crash onto the summer beach and spread out across the wet sand. Foam and bits of rocks and broken shells are left behind as the wave retreats back to the sea. Then again, it crashes. And then retreats. Back and forth. A repetitive movement. Yet somewhat soothing to look at.Reaching up and adjusting my sunglasses, I look over at Bennet who's sitting in a reclining beach like the one I sit in. The hot summer day is just at its peak. Hot and humid. It brings out the sweat in your body, and the umbrella that is giving us shade gives little coolness to ward off the sweltering air.And I'm sweating a bit, the amount that is just like when you take out a cool water bottle from the fridge. The second you take it out. Just enough droplets that if you touch it you get a hint of water. It sticks a bit to my shirt uncomfortably.But Bennet besides me is like an ice cube in a stove. Laying back with his arms behind his head, his body sweats profusely, even in the weak shade. He wears
There's a wide room with a matching window that has the scene of the ocean beyond a small meadow and a small group of trees to the right. There are two chairs and one round high coffee table between. Two people sit, one you know, one you don't. At least not from this story. "So," says Cayce, "I'll introduce myself first. But since this is the end of my book then you probably know about me enough. Cayce Vance, eighteen. Married around now, ready for some action, and half-demon and half-angel hybrid." Cayce raises his wings to prove his last statement, and they move around. Because he's wearing a shirt with holes in the back they're visible to the audience. "So, now you introduce yourself," says Cayce to the other person. "Reza Kelson," replies the other person, Reza, "read my book." "Now, this is supposed to be the part where you promote your book so that everyone will read it," says Cayce, "I mean, this bonus chapter is supposed to be the promotion for An Eye for a Bullet.
The ocean's awfully grey. I didn't remember it being this dismal when I visited here when I was a kid. Maybe time changed my perspective of looking at things. Or it may be that I'm not as innocent and carefree as I used to be.Curled up in the back seat of the Black Ben Dad prepared for me to be driven into his home town, I looked out across the grey ocean, and an equally grey sky, looking for a horizon that was hidden in the fog. The sea looks very similar to the color of dirty mop water, the type you find in the janitor's closet after he's done his dirty and distasteful work. Needless to say, it's dismal.Don't get me wrong, I love all types of weather, but when you have to sit in the back of a car for four hours to go to your new home, and you aren't addicted to your phone, you automatically look out the window. And if all you see is a world of grey, it's only a matter of time until you become brain dead.Your mind first tries to play these frivolous games, like find a shape in the
We head upstairs after we have some time of talking and joking. We were supposed to take about four hours to get to Handerville, but because of bathroom breaks and traffic, it took about five and a half. No problem there really. We grabbed some dinner during our breaks, so all that was left to do when we got here was relax, shower, and sleep. We part ways on the second floor. The house has three floors and a roof, but most of the bedrooms are on the second floor. Not mine though. Mine is on the third floor. I don't mind. If I remember correctly, my room looks out on the ocean. The house is built on a tiny peninsula of land, and the nearest house is about a mile away, great for privacy. And the land is our own. So it works out great. Especially when you're like us. Different. And hated. Can't forget that. Different and hated.Also party animals. We might be like the Addams family actually. Everyone's got it in for us because we're so chic and subtly antagonizing that makes us
I park my car in front of the school building. Turns out the car Dad got for me was a big white brick, not that I'm complaining. I heard they're very safe to drive in. Pulling my keys out of the ignition, I grab my backpack from the passenger seat. In the rear mirror, I check that I look presentable. I'm wearing some dark blue jeans and a button-up shirt. I look like the typical nerd, minus the glasses. One of the pros of the supernatural, you have great eyesight.Stepping out of the car, I make sure to lock it. I see that around the parking lot, there are other kids, but none of them have noticed me. Yet. Walking toward the entrance, I realize I should have brought something to wear over my shirt. Handerville is pretty far north, and even though it's just barely September, it's chilly. Oh well, guess I better bring one tomorrow. Or die cold. either works. Walking into the school, I see they're handing out schedules. I step in line to receive mine. Shortly it's my turn."What's