Winged

Caged in Steal

I wake up coughing, gasping as the smell of burning fills my nose. My wings flutter behind me as I sit up and stare into my oddly lit room. The floorboards glow a bright orange from within, and the walls seem to crackle. The heat is immense, suffocating even as smoke makes its way through the doorway at the foot of my bed and above me. I cough again, grasping at the fabric of my dress and stuffing it over my nose. The smell of soot breaks the smell of smoke just enough for my coughing to settle.

I roll out of my bed, feeling my lungs capsize in terror. The floorboards are scorching hot against my hands and knees, pulling a light hiss from between my chapped lips. 

Fire. My home is on fire. 

I scatter to my feet, pulling my wings around me just enough to protect my head. Ash hits me as a stumble from my room and towards the chair my father fell asleep in. The eucalyptus wilts in the heat, my father nowhere to be seen.  I try to call out his name, but my breath comes out labored, the smoke making its way through the fabric of my dress. I cough again, spasming as I do. It hurts, and the smoke is filling up the room so fast that I can barely see. 

I duck down and shield myself with my wings. The roof cracks over me. I try to call for my father again, but my coughing only worsens. I can’t see. I can’t breathe. I make my way for the door, falling onto my knees as a piece of the roof breaks off and hits the ground right behind me. The fire grows, and for the first time, i see the flames chasing me, licking my heels. They taunt me. “Where is your father?” They harass. “Where is the door?”

I crawl forward, letting my wings take the heat and flame. They stand strong, invincible against the fire. Another round of coughing attacks me and I pause at the doorway, looking back into my collapsing home. The timbers dance with shows. The sky rains ash. The chair my father was in hours ago now supports the roof’s flaming pieces. My room, as small and dirty as it was, no longer exists through the flames. I crawl out the door and collapse onto the soft grass outside. The flames still lick me but I need a second to breathe in the fresh air around me. 

I look up.

The fields are also in flames. 

Terror bubbles back up inside me. What if he is out there, in the fields, surrounded by the flames, lost in the maize. I scramble to my feet with one more hacking cough and scream for my father. The sound echoes against the burning house behind me. I scream again. And again. And again. Hearing my voice fall only onto my own ears. The tears in my eyes swell as I turn back to my house and cough. “Where is your father, you pathetic monster?” the flames cackle at me. I turn in time to see my horse race off down the road, ownerless. Back to the town. Alone. The flames reach for me from all sides and I scream again for my father. My wings do their best to bat the greedy fire away. My world is filled with red and orange, my lungs with ash. My final scream for my father dies short, killed by a round of coughing that jolts me back to the ground. 

“He isn’t here.” A crackling old voice say from behind me. I freeze, the cough in my throat dying. A cold hand lands itself on my shoulder, squeezing into the remains of my charred dress. A cackle chills my bones, “He ran away like the coward he is.”

I go to turn my head, to see who holds my shoulder so tightly, and cackles at my pain. My terror gives way for anger, fear stiffening my wings. The hand moves slightly, and a loud thump echoes around the flaming hills.

Pain erupts through my skull, swallowing me. The hand lets me fall forward into the smoking grass. A cry escapes my mouth as the pain engulfs me, spreading from my head down my limbs in a shiver. My eyes blacken as m body loosens. The cackling from the flames grows. Or is it the stranger. Or is it me? Everything hurts, and my thoughts die in my head. 

…

Time has passed. Time has passed, and some distance, as the sound of waves greets me with the bright shine of the sun. My eyes pain my as I open them towards the sky, just as my skin pains me under the intense light. Cage bares greet my blurring eyes, rattling against the mass of my wings. My back scratches against the bars rusting metal, my wings trapped on the other side. I turn to see ropes holding them out, trapping me like the monster I am. I look away. I can’t stand the truth so blatant. 

In front of me, on the other side of the rusting bars, a small tent erect with animal skins greets me. Bear’s hide covers beaver in a thick layer over the tent, shadowing the inside with a midnight black. Pots and pans bubble at the mouth of the tent, spilling out and around my cage. Some of them whistle. Some of them shake. Most of them steam without any heat. All the pots are banged and misused, showing dents and rust. A light smell of cinnamon hits my nose and makes me dizzy. I pull my dress to my face and sneeze it away.

To my side is water. Light waves lap at the surface of the dirt, pulling away bits of grass and rocks. The waves are lazy, and I see a town of some sort as a pinprick on the other side of the water. 

Everything is strange here, wherever I am. I wonder if Father knows where we are…

I stop. 

My mind pains me as memories rush back like heavy punches to the gut. The fire. The fields. The woman. Father left? He left me? My heads thuds with pain as I lean into my hands. It hurts. All of it hurts. My home is ruined, probably nothing more than an ashy carcass now. My Father is gone. If I am to trust the cackling voice, he left me. If I am not, then he died. I don’t know which one hurts more. My life, my home, my town, my family. I have nothing.

I grasp at my arms. Sobs choke me as they roll out of my body in waves. My wings flap behind me as I work to free myself, and wrap myself in their white protection. I can’t have this. All I had was him. That was my life. I am lost, a monster stuck in a terror filled world. The ropes snap behind me as my wings flap harder and harder, working for their freedom. I don’t notice really. I don’t care. My body sags in on itself. I have nothing.

“Ey! Stop it you wretched girl!”

I freeze, the tears finishing their slow roll down my face. It is the voice. The woman from the fire. My head spins to find her as she makes her way out of the tent. 

She is short, with spinning black hair that reaches her waist. Her eyes sag into her head, where her nose protrudes. Her lips draw themselves in a thin line, as she slouches over herself to check the bubbling pots at the tent’s entrance. Her long fingers are less haggard in the light of the sun. Even with her odd looks, she can’t be that old. 

I stare at her, numb. She makes her way from pot to pan to pot, stopping at each one to stir, sip, and gag. Slowly, in this manner, she makes her way to me. At the last pot, she reaches my cage and straightens her back to look at me with calculated eyes. 

“I need you, but I don’t have to need you. Ruin anymore of my things and I’ll make sure you drown.”