Wings Part 3

PART 3: Grey Wings!

     I actually passed out from the pain . . . and of blood loss a couple times. The bend of my wings penetrated through, but it got stuck halfway, now the rest of the wing is trying to move upward, making the pain stretch downward to the middle of my back.

     I'm up to three days now. It's dark outside. I think it might be midnight. So in technical terms it's been two and a half days.

     Mom plans to stay home from work to stay by my side and dad is going to do the same. Dad decided to get a job in searching for people. Eighty-five percent of the time the people he searches for are angels or demons. Seventy percent of the time they're demons. He works all night so he can stalk immortals he can pinpoint and match that immortal with the picture he was given. The job is easier when the person he's searching for is immortal. If they're mortal it takes some time for him. Since he's good at his job, most likely the office will allow him to vacation a little longer.

     I begged them to pull my wings out a million times. Mom was more than happy to go for it. She hates seeing me in pain. But dad said that I have to do it myself. How can I do it myself? I'm not even sure if I'm moving the wings myself. I feel as if they're parasites moving on it's own and trying to kill me. Like parasitism.

     "Pull them out! Pull them out!" I beg again.

     "Sweetie—"

     "Emily! No!"

     "Why not!?"

     "He has to do it himself . . ."

     "It's been nearly three days!" she hisses.

      "You can't interfere. This is just like a chick hatching from it's egg. The mother can't help the chick even though she wants to. If you help him you'll most likely damage his wings," dad explains.

     I scream and grip my fists harder, piercing the palms of my hands with my nails. I can feel blood running in my hands. My body shakes, my back pulses in response to the pain, and heat consuming me. My wings . . . feel as if they're on fire and melting my skin.

*********

     I skipped school again. By the late afternoon my back has been ripped open from the inside out by my wings. Only halfway there.

     The pain has ceased again, but only for the time being. Sweat beating down my face and breathing heavily from all the screaming. Blood running down my back from the openings that my wings have created and running down onto a blanket mom and dad plan on throwing away after all of this is over.

     Mom soaks a sponge before tenderly washing the blood off my back. This is basically the closest thing to a shower I've had in three days. I would take one, but I most likely would have doubled over and crack my head open in the shower when the pain comes back.

     Mom has two buckets beside her, one with clean water and the other to squeeze the blood and sweat in. She finishes off my back and starts running the cold water over my head and down my face to cool me down more. My body shivers in reaction, but it feels nice.

     "I think I know what child birth feels like now . . ." I mumble grimly.

     Mom chuckles under her breath. "I don't think you should compare the two. Obviously you're having it worst than I did. You're having your skin ripped open from the inside out. And your "baby" is much bigger than you and Harmony as newborns combined."

     "But babies are wider."

     "But I actually have a hole to push out of. You don't . . ."

     "Ew . . ." I wrinkle my nose at her for even saying that. "Good point though." She moves behind me and gently dries my back, avoiding the open wounds. "Were you in labor long when you were pregnant with me?" I ask after I dry my face.

     "With you, yes. I was in labor with you for about five days," she smiles. "Biggest pain in the ass even before you were born," she laughs.

     I chuckle at her comment. It's one of her humorous charms. Even if it's honest truth, we all know she can deal with it anyways. She jokes the same way with Harmony and dad. But we all know better. We all know she loves us and jokes out of love.

     Dad comes walking through the door and immediately closes it behind him. "How much time before it starts again?" he asks.

     "I'm assuming two more minutes," mom answers and collects the cleaning material to put into a corner. Dad comes to her aid to help her up on her feet. She huffs and touches her pregnant stomach before she goes outside. She stuck by my side the whole afternoon and needs to take a break and eat for herself and for my brother or sister.

    "Is it even okay for mom to be around me when she's that pregnant? Won't the baby hear what's going on?" I ask dad.

     "No, it isn't okay for her to be around. Being really stressed during pregnancy harms the baby's development. But your mother is stubborn and acts on her mama bear instincts. And not yet. The baby won't be able to hear for another two weeks. So your brother or sister won't hear you screaming," he answers. "Although your mother is handling this really well. She wasn't taking your process too well on the first day."

     I can guess why. This isn't exactly normal in mortal standards. Mom has seen things that mortals should never see or never know. God must really trust her. They won't tell Harmony and I how they met or how they finally told each other how they felt. They both looked happy to remember those memories, but terrified to tell us. It only makes us suspicious.

     "You know you'll need to help out your mother and I when it's Harmony's turn right?"

     "Yeah . . ." I answer. "Have you told her how graphic this is?"

     He shakes his head. "You kids are different. You'd want the straight answer while Harmony would rather not know until the time is closing in on her. And it's best not to tell her just yet. It's best not to tell her now when she could possibly get her wings in a year and a half. We don't want the idea of it in her head for that long . . ."

     "Yeah . . . you're right. A little warning for me would have been great too by the way," I say grimly. Right on time, the pain comes back. But it feels different this time. The pain is stronger. And my wings now try to rip through in an aggressive manner. I curl in a ball and hug myself, I don't even have the need to touch my back feeling this much pain.

     What the hell is happening? Just a few minutes ago my wings were too weak to move. Now suddenly it feels as if someone dug their arms into my back and pulling upward into the part of my back that hasn't opened up yet. I take it all back. This is worst than when it was slow pain. Now I feel like I'm going to die.

     Dad keeps close to me, telling me it's almost over and that I just need to hold on a little while longer. Thanks dad, you guys were telling me that yesterday and obviously it didn't end then. How do you even know it'll end now!?

     My whole body tenses and shakes, my nails digging into my arms, pressing my forehead to the floor as I gasp for air in between my screams. My skin is opening up faster than before and finally . . . at long last my wings stretch from my back. I relax and rest on my stomach, breathing heavily and look to my dad.

     He looks back at me and back at my wings. I slowly look to them too, seeing that they're slowly falling and bending in a relaxing manner. They're grey and stained in blood. I sigh and close my eyes. Finally . . .

     Mom comes in and gasps at the sight of my wings finally being out and free. She comes over to me, gets on her knees, and pats my sweaty head.

     "Now I REALLY know what you went through when I put you through labor. Sorry mom . . ." I say under my breath.

     Mom smiles at me and kisses the top of my head. She looks at my wings and looks to dad. "They're really the same color as yours."