Silver Feather

“Luck!”
I doubt I’ve ever screamed so loud. Suddenly, the limbs trapping me fall away and burst into black smoke. Luck then appears after shooting the arms with a coal like substance. Without a word, his hand grabs me and pulls me.
“Why don’t you stay put?” he asks, anger rising in his voice. “Do you realize that you’re making things a hundred times harder for me?”
He did come for me… My skin becomes cold with the frost in the air. There’s no way for me to escape this. My eyes swell with tears.
Luck says, “It took me forever to find you. Nowhere is safe.”
He stops and looks me over.
“Are you alright?”
I nod, although my tears show him otherwise. I begin to shiver with fever. We keep walking out of the tall grass.

Luck, having a better sense of direction, finds the way back to the truck before sunrise. I fall asleep on the ride to Texas. He never says a word to me until we stop. Driving in the city region, Luck stops by a supercenter that’s open. He cuts the crying engine and turn to look at me.
“We’re going in to get some cans and stuff.”
“Cans?” I ask, wondering.
“We’ll need to stack up on can foods,” Luck says. He glances over the dashboard and sweeps his finger across the steering. “We’ll be staying in a lodge. So pick up whatever you need and meet me at the cash.”
He hops out the truck and heads for the automatic doors. I quickly follow him, learning my lesson of being too far from him. The sign above the entrance reads Target. I stare at the big red circle. If I didn’t have eyes, I wouldn’t have known there were bats hanging off the sign. If I didn’t have eyes, I wouldn’t see them stare my way. As I walk in, it seems that it’s near closing time. I jog over to the girl’s section and pick up some clothes and a pair of shoes, as well as some soaps. I find an abandon red cart in the middle of the way. I dump my things and push it towards the food aisle. I drop a few cans and tomato soups. I grab a box of Cheerios. I begin to think about Aunt Glyn and everyone back in Baltimore. I can’t help but run my mind there ever so often. I’m not sure of what day it is exactly, but I remember I had plans with Vienna to go shopping. I’m sure she would have loved the pink sweater I just passed by. I reach the cash register and the lady behind the counter starts to record my purchases. I add the lonely gossip magazine and two packs of Skittles. I stack the clothes atop the counter and watch Luck come behind me. He stands close by, eyeing every corner of the mall.
“I picked up some toothbrushes,” I whisper in better humor, “I hope angels brush their teeth.”
Luck looks down to me and casually responds, “Although I’m an angel, I’m in human form. So, I’m subjected to human conduct.”
Ignoring if the cashier is trying to eavesdrop, I continue talking.
“You don’t act like it.”
“Perhaps. You don’t seem to have the IQ of an average human. You win some, you lose some,” he shrugs.
I elbow him in the stomach, but he looks at me as if I never touched him. Suddenly, I feel so much safer. I think I can trust him.
Luck and I go back to the truck that’s sitting in the lot alone now. Luck drops the bags in the back seat and starts the engine again. It vibrates its roars and drives us up in the mountains. I stare at the rocks and cactuses as though they’re speaking to one another. The truck grates side to side against the uneven path. Up hill, there’s a small dark wooded cabin, sighing between naked treed and yellow grass. I jump out as soon as the truck comes to a full stop.
“We’ll be staying here for a few days until the demons let up.”
“You don’t think they’ll find us here?” I ask him.
“They can’t come here,” Luck shakes his head.
“Why? What makes you think that?” I ask on, looking up at him.
Luck explains, pointing in the horizon, “There’s a barrier about a few yards around this place.”
I blink a few times not understanding. What is so special about this place?
“What barrier? How do you know?”
“A higher power angel was here… probably centuries ago, and created a barrier to protect itself. The barrier stays even though the angel dies. This cabin just happened to be built inside the barrier. But whoever built it was pure, because only pure souls can go through angelic barriers.”
I stop in my tracks. So am I a pure soul? How can that be? I’m far from being perfect… I raise my eyes to the deep sky.
Luck goes ahead and opens the cabin door. That’s all it is, an old cabin. Nothing’s inside. I don’t know what I was expecting, but I surely wasn’t expecting this. There are vines growing in the corners, one window opening, and logs to make campfire. I can feel the heat of the sunrise touch my neck. Luck kicks the four pieces of wood sitting on the ground, unsatisfied.
“I’m going to go get more fire wood,” he says, monotone. It sounds like he’s ordering himself around. “It gets cold at night.”
I nod and watch him disappear through the screeching door. I begin to unpack some things out of the Target bags. I lay blankets on one side of the ground and stack the cans, creating a kitchen area. I don’t touch Luck’s duffel gun bag by the doorway. I can hear mosquitos whistling and frogs making noise. I walk outside and travel to the back of the cabin. There’s a small pond streaming a few steps away. Orange fishes swim perkily in circles. I dip my hand in it and feel its frigidity. I hear wood snapping and my eyes find a far away Luck effortlessly fighting with nature. I stay with the fishes until he comes back.
“Need help?” I ask, lifting myself on my feet.
“No,” he passes.
I pout my lips and follow behind him. He throws the wood in its corner and inspects my work of organizing our stuff.
“Where’s my bag,” he turns and looks at me.
“It’s where you left it,” I answer, recovering from his glare.
He goes for it once he sees it. I closely watch him stick his hand inside and pull out some strange metallic weapon. He leans it over his shoulders and exits the cabin. I go after him.
“Where are you going?”
“Just stay here,” he tells me.
“Okay, but where are you going?”
He continues walking off and disappears. I hear the sun’s rays frying the earth. I close the cabin door, restless. The temperature starts to rise and I wipe the sweat of my forehead. I try to wait until I’m famished before opening food. I look at the magazine and flip through it as I pop Cheerios in my mouth. I massage my aching muscles, waiting for Luck to come. I find myself looking out the window like a pet. I walk around the small cabin. I sing some songs out loud. I even busy myself and stack the wood. I think I hear an owl hoot. It starts to get dark out and Luck finally appears.
“Where were you so long?” I yell, exasperated.
“Just on the look out,” he says casually.
He walks up to my wooden masterpiece and pulls a few logs out, making it to crumble. He throws it in the small pit and starts a fire in a flash. My eyes graze over the colors the fire makes. It warms me up and I sit near it. Luck sits across the fire and rubs his hands.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, trying to break the heavy silence.
“No,” he says.
I sigh at his monotone face. He’s impossible. I feel him staring at me, though. So I pick up the old magazine again and pay much attention to it.
“What’s wrong?” Luck asks.
I look up over the fire and watch his face glow.
“Nothing,” I answer.
“What’s wrong with your arm?”
I look at my shoulder that I’ve been holding on to, trying to squish the pain.
“Nothing,” I say, “It just hurts—”
Luck gets up abruptly and comes to my side. He takes my arm harshly and rolls the sleeve up. There’s something there that he sees on the back of my arm. He gives me a look before getting up and travelling towards the bags.
“Take your shirt off,” he says.
I frown, still massaging my sore shoulder. He pulls out a few things and sits back next to me.
“Take it off,” he repeats.
“No,” I say.
He then pulls it off of me despite my protest.
“You didn’t see this?” he asks me.
I can’t even answer, because I’m blushing.
“I bruise. So what?” I breathe out.
“I’m not talking about your bruises,” he says, “I’m talking about this.”
He twists my skin, showing me thin black lines on the back of my arm and up my shoulder. I shudder at the scary sight and panic.
“W-what’s that?”
“It’s all over your back,” he says, still casual and indifferent to my fright.
“What?!” I scream, “What is it? What is it? What is it?”
“Maybe the poison got in your system,” he notes.
“What poison?”
“Earlier when I was shooting down the demons. I threw a poison bomb. You probably breathed it in.”
Why is he not worried as I am?
“What? Am I going to die?”
He pauses and doesn’t answer. I turn to look at him. He looks as though he’s thinking of something. At this point I’m shaking and having a panic attack.
“Maybe,” he says, “I don’t think so.”
My eyes tear up and I want to pull my hair out.
“Why are you saying it like that?” I cry.
“Save, calm down. Breathing in poison is not that fatale.”
“Yes, it is!” I scream, feeling my tears roll down my face.
“Not my poison. Not unless you’re a demon.”
“You’re not even sure!”
“I’m sure you won’t die. You might just be weak for a while.”
“What are you talking about? I asked you if I was going to die and you said maybe!”
Then, Luck bursts out a small even grin. He tries to hide it by lowering his head, but I see it clearly and it makes me cry even more.
“Why are you laughing,” I can barely mumble straightly.
“It’s… you crying,” he grins.
“You’re laughing,” I sniffle, “Because I’m crying?”
He shakes his head, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not nice!” I sob like a baby.
I try to rub my face with my shaky hands. I feel itchy all over.
“You’ll be fine,” he tells me, still grinning.
He opens some glass bottle and mixes some concoction and rubs it over my skin. I try to stop crying, convincing myself that he was lying about the whole ‘maybe you’ll die’ thing. I panic because he’s always serious, though I doubt he’s being serious now. He grabs new clothes and I get dressed. Angry and scared, I don’t say anything. I curl up in the blanket and instantly fall asleep.

I wake up and it’s morning. The sun is shining and my body sweats because of it. My fingers itch my palms and I try to lift myself upward. My eyes look for Luck. He’s there; in the same place I left him. He’s looking through the window. The tips of his dark brown hair bathe in the sun, creating a halo figure above his head. For a moment he does look like an angel. But his back arches forward, exposing fatigue of his human body. He didn’t sleep. My sweaty hands reach up for my shoulder and feel it’s numbness. He then notices movement behind him and discovers I’m awake. He looks at me.
“Don’t worry,” I sigh, “I’m feeling better.”
“I wasn’t worried.”
I close my lips shut and look at a wall, which suddenly is more interesting. He waits a minute before getting up. The fire is low and cracking between the logs. Just as I feel Luck come close to me, I look up. He holds out a cup with steaming water. I take it after wiping my hands on my pants.
“What’s this?” I ask, looking into the cup.
“Tea.”
I eye him carefully.
“What kind of tea?”
“Tea tea.”
I sigh giving up. I take a sip and my throat gags.
“Ugh, this tastes awful,” I grimace.
“You’ll get used to it,” Luck says, monotone.
It’s bitter. I set the cup down. I can’t even drink tea. I’m hot and sweating all over.
“Luck,” I call.
He looks back to me again.
“What’s it like being an angel?” I ask.
He stares blankly, as if searching.
“Why? Do you want to be an angel?”
“A person can become an angel?” I ask as amazement plasters my face.
He shakes his head, “No, that was rhetorical.”
I roll my eyes, but he goes on.
“An angel can stop being one, though.”
He shaves my curiosity.
“How?” I ask.
He looks at the wall I used to find interesting.
“Rebel,” he says.
His mouth seems to be dry, because he licks his lips.
“Why would an angel not want to be one?” I press on.
I expected him to shrug, or say something rhetorical to make me feel stupid for asking. But he answers.
“When you’re stuck for millenniums, you’d long to be free,” he says.