[30-DAY WRITING CHALLENGE] PROMPT #5: Flying People

Prompt #5: Flying people

Note: Alternate Universe – Soulmates.

Close your eyes and dream of the sky

She was scared.

Flap. Flap. Flap.

It was not supposed to happen that way.

Bright wings beat hastily, yellow feathers glowing in the dim light of the capital’s night.

It was not how she should find her soulmate.

Bullets swished by, barely missing her for a fraction of a millimetre. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, making her blood roared and her breath quicken. The spot between her shoulder blades, where her soulmark used to be, throbbed with every flex of her muscles.

Pain shot through her left wing and blood bloomed among yellow feathers. The flapping faltered and she almost fell to the ground.  

NO! She couldn’t stop now. Gritting her teeth so tight it hurt, she stretched her wings with new resolution.

Faster. Faster. Please…. She had to make it out of there. She didn’t want to die.

Another bullet. Another white hot pain, this time across her arm. Cut her cheek. Shattered her right wing’s bone.

It was not how her life is supposed to end.

She was spiralling down, down, down.

Another shot. One. Two. Three.

She screamed.

Red splattered on the dirty alley walls.

Everyone was born with a tattoo on their back, a pair of wings that sprouted when you met your soulmate.

People said, when your wings grew from your back with a blinding, warm light, it was the most wonderful moment in a person’s lifetime. People said, when you and your soulmate shot together onto the sky, harmonious in a soundless dance, your heart and soul also took off. People said, you were never truly alive until you felt that freedom deep in your bones and the clear air on your skin, with your mate’s arms around you and yours around them.

Yes, that was what people said…

Gertrude Grey grew up with those stories, watching her friends and neighbours soar across the sky with their fated mates. And like any other children, she dreamt about colourful wings and soft feathers glinting even in the dark. Her childhood was filled with secret fantasies, wild and beautiful, of the day her soulmate would come and Gertrude Grey could finally get her wings.

Then, came the bloodthirsty tyrant. A King who killed and destroyed just for his own sadistic pleasure. A man so vile he was rumoured to never have a soul, much less a soul-partner.

Suddenly, her peaceful town was torn apart. The chirping birds went quiet and laughter dwindled as fire fell from the sky and screams filled the air. In a moment, the blue sky was dyed in red, and yellow, green and black…. Feathers poured from the sky like a hundred-coloured rain, tainted with blood and dropping bodies. And Gertrude, as she saw her friends’ life drained away, learned to put down her dreams and pick up her weapons. She chose to fight.  If the King wanted blood, her knife would take it from him.

But no matter how much blood she got onto her hand, there was still a burning hope in side her heart that the war would end, and she could find her happy-ever-after.

As she tiptoed her way into the king’s chamber, dagger bare and ready to end the tyrant’s life, Gertrude put a hand on her chest, across from where the unawaken mark lied on her back, and sent a silent promise of success.

This was for her soulmate. All the blood and war would end with her hands.

Dagger rose.

Eyes hardened.

The pointy steel hovered above the man’s heart.

So close now.

But why did she feel like she was making the worse mistake of her life?

The king was young, his face peaceful in slumber. No wings.

Her tattoo throbbed.  A dull pain that quickly seared through her heart.

And as her brown eyes meet with ice cold blue, two pairs of wings, one pitch black, one cheerful yellow, erupted from their backs.  Dark and light clashed in the spacy room as the man lunged for his attacker. Gertrude stumbled and dropped her knife. Her eyes fixated on the black feathers behind the King.

It couldn’t be, right?

Glass shattered somewhere behind her, and her wings took her through the broken window, away from the soulmate she had never asked for.  

Gertrude gulped in the stale air of the alley as she slumped down the dirty wall. Agony laced through every fibres of her body. Her eyes blurred and her ears were ringing. She struggled to pick herself up, trying to keep a little bit of dignity.  She fell to her knees with a yelp. The king stood in front of her, proud and strong. She looked at the gun pointing at her heart, then back at the man.

Blood was soaking through her black clothes from the gaping wound on her hip, creating a small puddle beneath her feet. Her wings dropped over her shoulders, tired and tattered. But her eyes were cold with hatred and contempt.  

“Go ahead. Kill me.” – She gritted out. The sound of metal gun against her cheek echoed through the quiet night. A thin strip of blood trickled down from where her forehead met the stone wall.  

A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her head up. The king’s face was centimetre from hers, and she couldn’t help but wonder if things had been different. If both of them was not born in the midst of a rebellion. If he weren’t a hated king and she weren’t an assassin. The thought was fleeting, just for a split second, but it was enough to send a wave of disgust and self-hatred through her mind.

She spat at his face, triumphant as it made a smear across the man’s unblemished skin.

The king wiped the spit off his cheek with his sleeve, face devoid of any emotion but arrogant disdain. The gun touched her throat, metal muzzle both hot and cold on her skin.

A pulse.

She closed her eyes.  

BANG!

Maybe, in another life, she would be able to fly….