Airel - Aaron Patterson [40]
They were standing on the roof of the tower, and all that surrounded them was a short wall, perhaps waist high, with one opening. A platform jutted out into thin air there, both warning and daring them to come closer. The tower was a perfectly circular spire. All that intruded upon the symmetry at the top was the rectangle cut into the floor that admitted the stairway, which, as was agreed upon between them, was a one-way ticket: the only way down from the top was to fly.
“It is very far to the bottom.” Kreios stated with excitement. They were both breathing hard. “The wind current up here will keep us aloft for a little while,” he said, poking Yamanu in the ribs, “even if you do not know how to fly.”
Yamanu looked over the edge and took a step back as a spasm of fear ran its icy fingers up and down his spine. “Are you sure this is safe?” he asked, but knew the answer. He did not relish the idea of testing the stories he had heard about their immortality. The idea of experimenting to see just how far they could take that truth scared him.
“My friend, you and I are as safe as a babe in his mother’s arms!” Kreios grinned at him from ear to ear. “The worst that can happen to us is a bruised ego. And trust me, friend, I will not allow you forget it if you fail to catch these wind currents.”
He slapped Yamanu on the back powerfully and looked over the edge with a smile. Kreios gazed with appreciation at the pure carved marble, veins of black twisting through creamy white, like the vessels in his own body, and he could imagine that the entire structure surged with power.
He walked forward to the opening in the wall in front of him. As soon as he went out past it, the unpredictable gusts turned suddenly violent. A weak boy would have been tossed in one fatal instant. But Kreios was not weak. He took another deliberate step toward the end of the platform, stopping two steps from the end. He looked over his shoulder at Yamanu, who had been putting on a brave face. But Kreios was intrepid and his expression had become mischievous and daring. He looked forward, ran the last two steps, and jumped with his arms out like a bird.
Chapter XXII
Boise, Idaho. Present day.
Blood pooled onto the wood of my dresser. I managed to stay on my feet looking at my hand and hoping that I wasn’t crazy. I prayed that I wouldn't have to get Mom up and ask her to rush me to the emergency room for… for stabbing myself!
But, if I was crazy, and oh how I wanted to be—the wound would heal. I didn’t know how or when. This complicated things. No matter what, either I was a psycho who heard voices and stabbed herself, or I was a freak of nature who, admittedly, could be a cover girl. When I’m not spontaneously barfing.
Now I would not only have the difficult and thrilling job of making it through high school and the whole teenager thing—but I had to figure out what I was as well. No matter what happened after this, I knew there would be consequences.
It was surreal. I stood there and watched my gaping wounds as they dripped. Gross. But it was like watching the invisible hands of an expert surgeon reorganize the twisted remains of my tendons, arteries, and whatever else was in there. It itched like nothing I had ever felt, as if my hand would tear itself apart. Everything was placed back in order, fused together, and my skin covered it all without a trace... well, except for all the blood.
All I could think about was the chorus to this song I had heard once. All it said was "stupid girl" over and over.
I shook my head, wiped the blood from my hands in awe and cleaned up my dresser with a ratty old shirt that I had been meaning to throw out anyway. Then I took everything out back and dumped it all into our big outside trash can. I went back up to my bedroom and grabbed a frilly