View Full Version : wings. [PG-13, possibly higher in later chapters] [Latest: Prologue]

October 10th, 2009, 12:50 PM
Author's Notes (A/N)
"Why fight? Why run? Why fly? Because we need to survive Alena. We are humans, even if we are different. Survival is our priority."

'wings.' is a novel. Easily put. I may have other novels that run beside 'wings.' in one big series. I don't know. It all depends.

But for the moment, we have 'wings.' and just that. Read, review, comment.

Bold = In-progress.
Normal = May re-write.
Italicised - 100% complete.

Prologue - Independence (http://www.pokecommunity.com/showthread.php?p=5203988#post5203988)
Chapter One - -untitled-

The Story of Gabriel
Prologue - Independence
Bucktooth laughed, and it wasn’t long before a chorus of chuckles came from the group of four lads. They weren’t very old – far from it, mid-twenties at the oldest – and were good at their job. They didn’t ask questions as long as they got their money. And yet, they were all thinking the same thing – why this kid?

The kid in question was fourteen in three months, clothed in only a black pair of jeans with a black leather belt and a pair of clashing white trainers. His hair was a striking crimson red – anyone who asked he assured it was natural – which matched his eyes. His nose was bent to one side as a result of it being broken. His lips were cracked, even though it was the middle of summer, and his ears were small and slightly too far down to be natural on his face.

One-Ear took a punch at his face, and hit – the boys head couldn’t go any further than the stone wall already beside him, so his cheek took a smashing. Yet when his head turned back, he smiled, causing another chorus of laughter.

“Geez,” Crisps said, “they told us it would be easy, but that was an underation.”

“Understatement.” The boy responded automatically. “It was an understatement, not an underation. Underation isn’t even a wor-“ He didn’t finish his sentence; his other cheek was sent into the matching wall on his other side. The boy spat blood, before turning back to the four lads and smiling again. Bucktooth shivered; this kid was creepy.

The boys eyes surveyed the four lads once more – he didn’t know their real names, nor did he care to. For the moment, they were Bucktooth, One-Ear, Crisps and Driver. Driver didn’t speak, but the teenager had seen him driving the beat-up Renault Mégane the four had turned up in. Bucktooth was named because of his buck teeth which always stuck out because of his overbite. Crisps was currently rummaging through a bag of Doritos trying to find any last crumbs (he was also incredibly overweight, so it was obvious that he liked those last few crumbs) and One-Ear’s deformed face was so gruesome that the boy hadn’t even bothered to look twice at him. Until he got the fist in his face, of course.

There was a moment of quiet whispering from the four men. Finally deciding on the best course of action, Bucktooth pulled a combat knife from his left pocket. The boy groaned; he hadn’t spotted that. Bucktooth raised the knife, and was about to bring it down at the boy when he did exactly what the kid had wished for – he hesitated.

“Can’t do it, can you? Murder an innocent child?” The boy said softly. He could see the strain in Bucktooth’s brow. “I wouldn’t recommend you do, either; you might get hurt.” The boy concluded. Strain was quickly replaced by fury, blind rage. And blind rage leads to mistakes.

Bucktooth didn’t hesitate this time, bringing down the knife at the boys head – or where the boy’s head would have been moments before, had it not slammed against Bucktooth’s forehead, surprisingly sending the grown man teetering backwards and hitting the far wall, collapsing next to the window. The whole process had happened in less than seconds, but everyone else in the room could’ve sworn it had taken hours.

The boy spun, landing a kick into One-Ear’s gut. Still trying to get over the fact that Bucktooth had been thrown backwards – nevertheless by a child – he hadn’t anticipated the attack, and naturally he hadn’t thrown up his arms to defend himself. If he had, perhaps the boy wouldn’t have had to smash the wooden lamp over his head to successfully knock him unconscious.

With the skill of a gold-medal athlete, the boy back flipped, spinning as he landed softly on his feet and getting an uppercut right in an astounded Crisps’ chin. After making a graceful three-hundred-and-sixty degree spin in the air, Crisps hit the floor, the breath rushing out of his body and the room around him spinning. He began to scream; a quick kick from the boy into his nose silenced that, however.

Driver took out his white handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing his sweat-ridden forehead. This was supposed to be an easy job. Never did he think he would live to see the day his trio of partners sprawled out across a room unconscious. They had all agreed beforehand if one of them had to give his life, it would be him.

The boy had turned now and Driver could see the anger in his eyes. It wasn’t a pretty anger, nor a friendly anger, and it didn’t seem like this could end up as a win situation. Driver coughed uncomfortably, though his eyes didn’t flicker at all, for fear of assault from his opponent.

“You know,” Driver said, causing the boy to hesitate; he hadn’t heard Driver speak once as of yet, “you’re pretty good, kid. Maybe we could make a deal?”

That was his last shot, and it wasn’t a great one, as it rewarded him with a nice kick in the gut, robbing him of his breath immediately. He fell to the floor as his knees buckled, and the boy rested his foot on Driver’s ear.

“First, you guys are nothing, I’m guessing. Lowest of the low. Second, I don’t make deals. I’m after someone and something that no one can help but a single person. Thirdly, the name is Gabriel. Don’t forget it.” And that was the last that Driver would hear for the rest of his life, as both his ears popped at the same time and began to leak blood.

Driver’s vision grew blurry, but through the window he could have sworn he had just seen the kid split open his back, jump into the air and fly away on a pair of dark black feathered wings. No, Driver thought. Hallucinations.

And then he fell unconscious like his trio of partners.