Written in Fear

The Angel lay still, looking up to see his killer cleaning his blades. One severed wing set lifeless behind the killer, ripped off with a quick swing of the very blades the killer now cleans. The bare naked Angel lies dying the only thing covering his male body are feathers plucked from his own wings and that of his own blood. The blood oozed from a slash across the angel’s chest. With the last bit of life, he reached up with his left hand and grabbed hold of the killer’s pant leg, as blood flowed down his arm from small cut, results of a well-fought battles. The Angel tried to speak but could only get out a whisper,
“Humans will…never…win this war. You are our…tools…nothing more.” Laughing, the Angel’s grip tightened, as he coughed up blood with his laugh. The killer, covered in shadows caused by the trees, lifted one of his blades into the air and forced it downwards with all his might. Twisting the blade, as it entered the Angel’s body and waiting until its grip loosened from his blood covered pants. The Angel’s hand dropped to the ground, as the killer pulled the blade from the corpse, ripping the flesh as it pulled free. A cry of pain could be heard from the heavens, like an echo. The killer stepped back from his kill and looked up to the heavens. With fists raised high he screamed, “Cry you evil beasts…for soon you will all be in the same position.”
The shadowed figure turned and stepped out from the tree and walked to the cliff. Looking down over the city he watched the sun rise over the mountains. The shadows faded as the sun appeared revealing a young man in his twenties. He wiped the blood and droplets of sweat from his face and placed one of his blades over his shoulder. “This will be a good day to die.” He smiled and turned back to the trees. Taking one last look at his kill, he smiled and stepped into the forest and one step closer to his own death.

Douglas finished writing with a proud smile across his face. It was not until he looked up that he noticed that the teacher was no longer in the front of the room. Looking around the filled classroom of middle school students, he quickly noticed that most of them were looking at him. A feeling of uneasiness quickly came over him as he turned his head to find the middle aged female, teacher standing just behind him looking over his shoulder with an unhappy look upon her face. Douglas turned red as he slipped the written page under his math book, in hopes she would overlook that he was not doing his class work.
“Not a chance,” she said placing her hand out. “Give it here.” He slid the page of notebook paper from under the book and handed it to her. “We will talk after class,” she said as the class began to giggle and mock him for getting in trouble. He slowly slid down in his seat and used his math book to cover the redness that had filled his face.
Class went on like normal for the rest of the time, but he found it hard to pay attention to anything after that. He had known that his writings were a little over the edge, but that was who he was. He had even been kicked out of school once because of his writings. It was only a few years before that Douglas found himself in much the same position.
He never understood why humans were so weird. Douglas never saw himself as a human. The human race was a group of over thinking, over feeling, and pre-judging people. He saw himself more like an animal, quietly living life and doing his best not to interfere with anyone else. Douglas always liked to say, “When was the last time a bird flew past your house blasting its music or would not shut-up in a classroom?”
As the clock slowly reached the second hour, he found his heart beating faster and faster. The bell rang with a thundering sound that it had never had before. His mind quickly went blank as he watched the rest of the students exit the room. He watched, as they pointed and whispered to each other as they left the room, leaving him and the teacher alone. An uneasy silent filled the room as he watched her from the back reading the single page of notebook paper that he had written on. He could see the unhappiness in her face grow. He knew that she was one of those, holier than thou, people and could only wonder what was going through her mind while reading the words he had written. As she set the page down on her desk she fell back into her wooden chair with a look of disbelief upon her face. Douglas rose from his chair with books in hand and slowly made his way to the front of the room. He saw no reason to wait any longer. He knew he was going to get in trouble and the longer he put it off, the worse he felt. Standing in the front of the room, he waited as the teacher stared down at the page of notebook paper.
“May we get this over with?” he asked in hopes of getting out of the room and back to the normal day quicker. At first she did not reply, which told Douglas that today was not going to go back to normal, and this was going to be a bigger problem than he knew.
“Have a seat,” she said still looking down. “I will need you to wait here.” She refused to look at him when she spoke as if afraid of him. She slowly rose out of her chair with the notebook page in hand and headed out the door without saying another word. For minutes he sat alone in the room rubbing his thumb quickly back and forth on the desk as if trying to rub off the glossy coating that covered the surface. Minutes passed and still he found himself alone. He began to wonder where she had gone and if she were coming back. Sitting there he stared up at the clock that sat proudly above the blackboard, mocking him with its hands. His mind began to wonder, in fear of what may be taking place right this second. He could see her standing in the office screaming to all that could hear about the crazy young man in her classroom that had written about killing angels. Pushing that from his mind he tried to think of something other than the teacher, but once more it was forced back into his mind. The image of her standing on the roof screaming into the heavens with a single sheet of paper in one hand and a cross in the other, filled his head causing him to jump to his feet.
“Alright!” he said aloud. “I am not waiting here any longer. If she wants me then she can come find me.” He grabbed his books and stormed out of the room.
The halls were empty with an eerie silence of a horror film. The slamming sound of a locker door somewhere in the hall caused him to jump. Again his heart began to race and he wondered where to go. School was almost done for the day and walking into a classroom already in session was the worst thing in the world. All those students staring at him always made him feel uneasy. Then again, people in general made him feel that way. With the hour of the final bell at hand Douglas decided to try to make a run for it. The school was usually like a prison with guards standing at the doors making sure no one would get out, but he, and most of the students, knew that if timed just right some of the doors were unguarded.
Making his way quickly and quietly down the hall he began to feel like a secret agent trying to escape from the enemy base. Entering the stairwell he made sure to step lightly because the door to freedom was just two floors below him and if someone were there standing guard a single sound would give away his position. As he got to the first floor, he made sure to lean over the side of the rail to see if anyone was there. If someone had seen him, he would have to make a run for it but that was not a problem. Many students have found themselves in this very same place over the years, and just like them, he knew where to go if trouble would arise. Luckily for him the door was unguarded, still the guards made their rounds every fifteen minutes, and he would have to get out the door and to the buses, which sat only a few yards from the door. The buses provide cover as he made his way off school grounds. Once off the school grounds, he would be free to walk through the woods to his house.
He paused for a minute, just a floor above the exit, and waited to see if anyone were coming and to prepare his weak heart and lungs for the work out he was about to put them though. For about a year he had known about the problems with his heart, but it was just within the last week that he had heard about his lungs. The doctor said that running will cause the heart to beat faster but due to the weakness of his heart, less blood would flow causing him to fall asleep and, if pushed too far could kill him.
Once he was sure he was ready, he started down the stairs. Suddenly the door on the second floor, just above him, opened. His heart stopped and so did he, frozen in horror as someone made his or her way down the steps toward him. It came to him that standing there is doing nothing but getting him busted. Turning his attention to the exit door, he ran down the flight of stairs with such speed. As he reached the filthy glass doors a voice called out for him.
“Douglas! Is that you?” He slammed his body against the door causing it to fly open. Stumbling over his own feet, he fell to the ground and rolled to a stop. He took a second to rub away the pain jumped up to his feet and push onwards. He did his best not to look back, but when he heard the glass door slam shut he turned to see a figure standing behind the glass pushing open the door. Quickly turning his attention to the buses ahead of him, he picked up speed and dove between them to hide. Pressing his body against the front tire of a bus, he rested. His chest was sore, and he had begun to feel tired. Suddenly the rapid click of high heels could be heard just on the other side of the bus. He pressed his body against the bus and slowly made his way to the back of it as the footsteps came around the front. He waited for a second to hear where the steps were going, only to find the heels had stopped. His mind began to wonder about why he could no longer hear anything. Had she removed her heels or was she now stalking him like a wild beast? His wondering mind caused him to panic even more. He figured that the only way to know for sure was to peek around the corner to see where she had gone.
Gathering every bit of nerve he had, he peeked around the corner to find her standing only a foot from the back of the bus with her back to him. In a panic he jumped into the air and fled towards the woods. Ducking in and out of buses he soon found what he had been running for, the woods. Pressing on at top speed he drove into the trees as if jumping to safety from a bomb.
Once again he rested as he looked though the bushes and watched to see if he had been followed. The clicking of the heels had started to get louder, than as quick as they appeared they disappeared. Falling back against a tree Douglas relaxed. Holding his chest as if trying to calm the beating of his heart, each beat felt like a knife stabbing him. Slowly the pain subsided as the heart slowed. Closing his eyes, he realized that he was relaxed enough to fall a sleep right then and there, though it suddenly dawned on him that he was still on school grounds. In his mind he knew the teacher would not follow him into the woods, but his creative mind refused to let him off that easy. Images of the teacher storming into the trees with a chainsaw in hand filled his mind. Pushing the thought away, he climbed to his feet and brushed off the leaves. Standing there, he took a second to collect himself. The smell of fall filled the air with its sweet smell as birds sang their songs. He watched the wind blow through the trees causing leaves to fall gently to the ground.
He walked though the woods and found himself turning to see if anyone had followed. He even paused many times because he felt he had heard a sound, only to find nothing. Wiping the drops of sweat from his forehead he stepped out of the coolness of the woods and into the hot sun once again. The road before him sat empty, but soon he knew it would be filled with kids running home to play, each screaming and yelling with joys of freedom. Quickly he walked down the street and to an apartment building that sat silently by itself at the end of the block. Slipping past the large brick building he came to a large grass hill the size of a football field. Buildings much like the brick building he had just passed sat all around it, each the same size. At the top of the hill, just near the center on the line of buildings, sat the place he called home.
It was not much of a home. It was more a place to sleep and nothing more. A home was a place of safety and understanding. This was not anything like his home. His home was a place of worry and fear. He hid in his room each day wondering if today would bring another beating. Today was no different. He quickly ran to his room and closed the door, even knowing that no one had arrived home as of yet. Sitting in his room he thought about eating something, but then realized that he was home and there was no food to be found.
Hours quickly passed as he sat there in the jail cell sized room, wondering if the phone would ring. Staring at the clock as it turned six, the fear of his teacher calling faded. As he began to relax a sound of horror filled the peaceful silence. A cold chill ran up his spine as the footsteps came upon his door. He half expected the door to fly open in a fury but instead a soft knock tapped at the door. The door slowly opened and with a kindness Douglas had never seen from his step-father he said, “We need to talk to you,” waving for Douglas to come out to the living room. In a shock Douglas rose from his bed and slowly walked out of the safety of his room. His mother sat on the sofa with eyes filled with tears, it was then that he knew it was not his teacher that had called. His step-father sat down beside his mother and placed one arm around her.
“That was the doctor” he said in a low tone. “Your heart is weak, but they believe the problem may be with your lungs and we’ll need to set up a time to go in to take more tests.” His mother began to sob louder. Douglas stared at them and began to wonder what the big deal was. This was not new news. In fact they were told this very thing only a week ago. Douglas whispered, “Ok” and headed back to his room. Closing the door behind him muffled the sounds of his mother’s cries. Sitting on the edge of his bed he began to think of his father. He wondered if his father was anything like him because it was clear his mother was not. His father had died when Douglas was four and he never really got to know him. He only had one memory of his father, which was more of a dream, and as Douglas aged even that was beginning to fade.
The dream started the same way each time. Douglas watched as his father put together a little hut made of pillows from the love seat. His grandmother sat on the sofa, opposite them, reading the paper. His father turned and picked up Douglas and placed him in the small hut.
“Ok, this is your store,” his father’s voice echoed. “What do you sell?”
“Papers” Douglas called out with a joyful sound. His father reached over and grabbed the TV Guide from the glass-topped coffee table and handed it to little Douglas.
“Hello, good sir,” his father said acting as if to walk up to a store clerk. The dream fades for a moment then returns with his father handing him a handful of red dice as money. Little Douglas collected them and then handed the TV Guide to his father with a joyful look upon his face.
“Well” his father said with his hands on his hip like superman. “We should put the pillows back before Grandma gets mad.” The dream fades to black as Douglas drifts off to sleep.
Douglas awoke the next morning to the sounds of the alarm clock. Reaching up like a zombie from the grave, he shut off the alarm and sat up in bed. He wiped the morning dirt from his eyes and gave a large yawn. Each morning he quickly got ready and was out the door before his mother and step-father awoke. It was not until he was at the front door of the school that the memories of the day past came to him. He stood frozen just outside the very door he had ran from the day before and stared up at the large building, like a man looking up at a giant. The cool brisk air of morning blew hard as Douglas thought about skipping school, but he could not. He was scared of what might happen, but he knew he would have to face it sooner or later.
“Hell with this,” he said out loud as he pulled open the door and walked into the school.
The halls were filled with kids, each talking loudly and pushing each other for space. He stood near his locker and watched as the humans made their way to their classes. He liked to wait, because unlike the others he could not deal with the uncivilized pushing and bitching that occurred at this moment. The day went on like every other until it came time to once again step foot into Miss Potter’s class, the very class that he was busted writing in the day before. Douglas found himself standing at his locker thinking about what may happen when he entered the room.
His mind began to create unreal possibilities, like one of his teacher turning into Freddy and clawing him to death while the class cheered her on. In another he walked in to find his teacher holding a cross and a knife. As he stepped up to the desk she quietly began to pray. Then in a flash she jumped up from her chair and began to yell “Bloody Marys” up to her unreal god. Douglas was not even sure what “Bloody Marys” were but figured it sounded religious so religious people must use it for something. When she finished she looked down upon Douglas with a look of a crazy person as she dragged the knife slowly across her throat. The sound of the class bell snapped Douglas from his day-dream. He looked up at the clock at the end of the hall and quickly ran into the classroom. In a rush Douglas ran back to his seat and sat down, almost forgetting about the story he had written, only to be reminded when Miss. Potter walked back to him and leaned down to his ear.
“I will see you after class,” she whispered softly then rose back up and began teaching. Class ended, more quickly than normal, or at least it felt it had to Douglas. The bell rang and everyone left in a hurry as Douglas sat there waiting for Miss Potter to say something.
“Douglas, come up here,” she said and Douglas did as she asked. He knew it was time to face the judge as he would have said. “Did you write this, during my class?” She held up the page of notebook paper to show him.
“If I say no can I be on my way?” he joked. She did not find it funny and shook her head. He took a second before answering and even thought about lying only to find he could not lie. He had written it and was even proud of it. “Yes, I wrote it,” he calmly replied.
“First of all, I am not very happy with what you have written. On the other hand it is well written for someone of your age. You ran out of here yesterday, before I could bring in someone to talk to you. Now I understand you were probably worried that you were in trouble but I assure you that you are not.” A peaceful feeling came over Douglas. “So if you could wait here I would like you to talk to another teacher about your writing.” Douglas stood there with a goofy look upon his face that reminded him of the movie “A Christmas Story” and the scene where Ralph is standing at his teacher’s desk daydreaming. Douglas nodded slowly as he sat down in the first chair he came to.
“I will be right back, don’t go running away again” she said walking out of the room. Douglas sat there relieved and dumbfounded. All the worrying was for nothing and now he felt like a fool, but the feeling quickly passed as he began to wonder about whom he was going to talk to.
She soon returned with an older man who reminded Douglas of Sean Connery without the voice. She introduced the man as Mr. Jones from the English department. Douglas shook the man's hand even though he hated it. Shaking hands was so nasty, as Douglas put it. Douglas liked it better when he was able to just bow his head like the Japanese. That way no germs would be passed on to him. At this young age, Douglas was just starting to get into a fear of germs.
Mr. Jones sat at the small desk next to Douglas as Miss. Potter took her place behind her desk. Douglas quickly began to feel that this was going to be one of those heart to heart talks about how he should write more and not be afraid of his skills, which Douglas did not understand since he had no skill.
“I read this and was wondering if you had anything else I could read?” Mr. Jones said in a deep tone. Douglas could easily tell the man was from the New York area.
“Only bits and pieces of stuff,” Douglas replied.
“I would like to see them, if I may?” Douglas walked to the back of the room and pulled out a green single subject notebook from under the pile of books. Holding it as if it was the bible itself, well to one that believed the bible was real, he walked back to the front of the room and sat down. At first he did not want to hand it over, but took a second to think about it and saw no real problem with it. Douglas hated letting people touch his things. He never knew if they would ruin them. It was mostly just human stupidity that he feared. Plus, if he damaged something of his own then only he was to blame, but if someone else did then that was a different story. Pushing the feeling aside he handed it over to Mr. Jones.
A half hour passed as Douglas watched Mr. Jones read though the pages. He watched and wondered what Mr. Jones could be thinking. His facial expression was calm and told Douglas nothing, which just caused him to worry even more. The one thing Douglas hated the most was people judging his work. He never understood why, but he just believed it was the human side of him. A sudden and loud voice caused Douglas to jump,
“Wow,” Mr. Jones yelled a little louder than even he had known. Gently closing the notebook and placing it on the desk in front of him, Mr. Jones smiled at Douglas. “For someone of your age this is some dark stuff.” Douglas swallowed hard as he listened. “Then again it is well written and I would like to have you enter the writing program.”
A wave of relief came over Douglas causing a chill to run down his spine. For the first time since handing over the notebook, he was able to breathe. The tension, which had been inside him, vanished as he wiped the small droplets of sweat from his brow.
“All this is about a writing program,” Douglas said with somewhat of an angry tone. Both teachers reacted in shock. Then it seemed to come to Miss. Potter.
“Oh, I had almost forgotten.” She turned to face Mr. Jones to explain. “Douglas has had some trouble in the past with his writings. I think it was two years ago,” she turned to see if Douglas agreed with the time frame and he did with a slight nod of the head. “From what I know, a teacher had come upon a story of his and took it a little out of context.”
“Not a surprise,” Mr. Jones said placing his hand on the notebook. “Not many people your age can write about such things, but that is what I like about it. You have an ability to write and I would like you to join my high school students in the writing program.”
Douglas had only two questions, what was he going to be writing and when would this be done. Mr. Jones smiled as he rose from his seat.
“You would be writing stories of fiction, non-fiction, and even an Essay or two. It is an after school program that takes place three times a week.” That is all Douglas needed to hear. Not having to go home was the kicker. “Plus you get to work with high school students.”
Douglas did not care about the high school students, just more lazy kids that would end up goofing off. It was the ability to write whatever he wanted and not get in trouble for it but actually get praised for it.
Douglas found himself standing outside of the school leaning against the red-bricked wall laughing at how stupidly he had acted the day before. He stood there and watched the other children running to their buses as they yelled and danced about in such joy. He had been worried for no reason and once more allowed his human side to show. Next time he will at least hear out a teacher before running for the hills.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his chest, one that he had never felt before. He rubbed it with his left hand as he braced the wall with his right trying to force the pain away. Slowly it vanished. It had not been the first time he had felt pain in his chest but it was never that strong before. He took a second to think about it. Go home and tell his mother or just like every other time, forget it and go on with life. It was not a hard choice. He forgot about it and headed home for the day. Ahead of him would be a life full of struggle and his writings would get him in trouble throughout his life. But for the first time he had someone who believed he was good at something. It would end up being one of the few times in his life.