Shattered Wings

Shattered Wings


Blood.

I could taste it; some had seeped into my mouth as I lay helpless on the cold, solid concrete. The sharp metallic tang was inescapable, the taste itself drowning me. I felt weak, the pain overwhelming my mind as I struggled in vain for survival. Everything had gone horribly wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen, I didn't want to die this way! And yet, there was the horrific stench of irony. Only two days ago I had every intention of jumping from the top floor, never feeling pain again. Maybe I should have gone through with it...

________________

This morning was strange, surreal even. The dream... It was... her... my best friend. She had died eight years ago, and though I still missed her, I wanted the nightmares to end. It wasn't like I had anything to do with it; there was a snowstorm, large fluffy white flakes coating the road, hiding the black ice. It was an accident, nothing I should feel responsible for. There was still the guilt, though, that I was alive and she was not. She was my closest friend, and I could never forget such a great loss.

This dream was different. In the past, I had seen her mangled, bloody body lying on the ground, staining the snow crimson. She would scream and moan, trying to reach for me, but I was too scared to take her hand.

But last night...

I was sitting on the beach, watching the sun set. She walked over and sat next to me. This time, she was clean, and looked older, closer to my age than the age she died. She smiled at me, but I couldn't smile back.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered, too ashamed to look at her. "I would have tried to save you."

"Don't worry," she said, shaking her head. "I know you feel bad about my death, but you can't let it kill you too. You need to move on with your life. Live the way you want to. Do it for me, okay?"

I realized she was right; for all these years, I had held myself back, resisting change, keeping inside my own little universe. At one point I had wanted to travel around the world as a photographer, observing and recording all the amazing scenes currently undiscovered. Somehow, I lost my motivation, staying close to home, taking a low-paying job at a copy store.

"But it isn't fair," I told her. "What about you, the life you never got to live? I can't leave you behind. You're too important to me, even as nothing but a memory. Please, I want to stay with you, you're all I have!" Tears were dripping down my cheeks, silently falling to the golden sand below.

She smiled widely. "The best thing about being a memory, I'm never far away from my best friend."

I lay down in the sand, sobbing. She wrapped her arms around me, holding me close to her heart. I could feel the warmth radiating from her. She was more than ghost, she was real. I gradually calmed down, returning her warm embrace. I was at peace with myself at last. She gently faded away as I awoke, smiling for the first time in years.

***

For some reason, I felt drawn to the building where I had nearly ended my life. It seemed the perfect place to start anew, break free from the chains of guilt, looking up to the heavens and promising to keep fighting no matter what.

At six stories, it was the tallest building in town. It was early enough in the morning that no one would see me sneak up the maintenance stairs to the roof. Since I had already broken the lock two days ago, I had no problem getting through the heavy door out into the bright morning sun. It was beautiful up here, the view completely unobstructed by ugly man-made landmarks. I could see the distant mountains, glowing purple against the pink sky.

The perfection was shattered by a startling noise from around the corner. I turned quickly, my heart beating fiercely, and what I saw nearly made me faint. There was a woman lying on the tar and pebbles, bleeding from gaping wounds in her chest and abdomen. As I approached cautiously, I saw the cloudy, vacant eyes, wide open in horror and pain. I wanted to run for help, but a man holding a knife stepped out of the shadows and dealt me a savage blow to the head. I suppose he was trying to knock me out, but I was only momentarily stunned, recovering quickly enough to stumble down the stairs, praying I could run faster than him whoever he was.

Damn it, why had I chosen a time when the building was empty, with no one to call for help? My only hope was to escape down the stairs, since all the rooms were locked and they were all dead ends anyway. The stairwell was open enough to jump downward a fair distance, allowing a wider gap between me and my pursuer. Unfortunately, I heard his heavy footsteps echoing thunderously above me, not far, also cutting corners. By the time I got to the ground floor, he was right behind me.

Yanking open the door leading out of the stairwell, I felt something pierce the back of my neck. In the time it had taken me to open the door, he had stabbed me with his hunting knife. Luckily for me it was a shallow wound, so I wasn't completely debilitated. Besides, there was so much adrenaline in my system by now, I couldn't feel pain. The lunge must have unbalanced him, because he tripped and landed on the floor. I slammed the door against his head as hard as I could, but it didn't do much. I took off before he could recover.

The end goal was in sight; the front entrance loomed ahead, beautiful refreshing sunlight streaming through the glass panes. I grabbed at the door handle, desperate for freedom. It was viciously snatched away as I was dragged backwards by my feet. After pulling me far enough away, he slashed my ankles with the knife, severing a tendon and pretty much destroying any hope I had of escape. I wouldn't be able to run, or even walk anymore. I was as good as dead.

He heaved me up over his shoulder, walking slowly to the elevator. I fought against his grip, but I was nearly paralyzed by the intense pain, so thrashing was remarkably ineffective. As soon as the elevator doors opened he dropped me head-first onto the floor. I crumpled roughly into the worn carpeting, expecting things to get much worse from here. He mashed the "P" button on the panel, setting our destination for the underground parking lot. This could not possibly end well for me.

When the metal doors slid open with a soft ding he immediately grabbed me again, this time by one arm and one leg (more efficient, I suppose). I was dragged over to one of the dark corners, well out of sight, where he rolled me over onto my back, placed a foot on my chest and pressed the large knife into the side of my neck.

"Sorry, dame, you shoulda stayed out of the way."

He whipped the blade across my throat, eyes flashing evilly. Then he kicked me sharply in the head and sauntered away. I wanted to run after him, grab the knife out of his filthy, blood-stained hands and stab him a hundred times for the woman, and another hundred for me.

My nose was bleeding, I was dazed from the kick to the skull, and blood was pouring freely from my throat. I held my hands against my neck, trying to keep most of the blood inside, but it was pumping out too strongly. I desperately attempted to crawl away, find someone who could help me. But the sliced ankles made my blood drain even quicker, leaving me lightheaded. I could barely move anyway due to my scraped-up back. It looked like the end for me.

I lay back, relaxing. It wasn't worth the struggle anymore. I would just wait for it to end. My vision began to blur and I closed my eyes. I heard an unknown voice speaking to me, and someone softly touched my hand. I slowly opened one eye, and I saw the vague shape of a person, the woman I saw on the roof.

"I--I'm sorry," she said, her voice echoing inside my head. "I shouldn't have tried to fight him, it only made him more violent. He had this planned for months, I think. I was a teller at the bank in town, and he seduced me in the hope that I would help him break in and rob the place. I told him no, but he threatened me so much I had to put a stop to it. He brought me to the roof, saying he had changed his mind, but it was a trap. It was a terribly foolish move on my part. I had hoped no one else would be involved. Can you forgive me?"

"Forgive you?" I scoffed. "You didn't do anything, you were already dead. I was at the wrong place at the wrong time. You weren't at fault." How strange it felt to hear those words coming from myself... "I only wish I could have made it to the police, so they could catch the bastard," I muttered. "Or at least given him a piece of my mind. Would've killed him myself if I had the chance."

"No," she said, shaking her head sadly. "You would never get over killing another person, even if it is self-defense. To you, it would be just as bad as cold-blooded murder."

She was right about that; I would never want to be anything like him.

"I guess it doesn't matter now," I murmured, feeling very sleepy. "Soon I'll be back with my best friend, together for eternity. Just like I wanted..."

"I wish I knew how to comfort you. Please know that in your final moments, you fought bravely. Even if you were only running," she added, knowing I would protest. "You didn't surrender. You wanted to help. I'm grateful."

"No problem," I whispered, grinning weakly. And with that I silently slipped away into the darkness, holding hands with my old friend and my new friend.