Fallen Angels

Harper Allen was an ordinary teenager, that is until very recently. Down in the darkest area of Seattle, Washington, in an old boat on the famous port is an army of 'Fallen Angels'; a group of angels from another world determined to take over our one. Armed with an injection that makes normal humans sprout angel wings, they are unstoppable. But once Harper gets turned into a Fallen Angel herself, will she have the power to be able to stop them? For the City of Bones competition.

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1. The End

If you think about it, humans are stupid. They go about their everyday lives, walking the dog, popping to the grocery store, feeding the cat, whilst denouncing everything that they can't see or hear or get solid proof out of. I learnt the hard way. 

"Mom! There's no such thing as angels!" I whined, crayola gripped in my chubby hand, my face screwed up in an expression that was annoyance mixed with uncertainty. My mom, a beautiful California-born woman in her early thirties looked at me and sighed. "You don't know that, Harper." She showed me her perfect charcoal sketch of a pretty young girl with angel wings as black as ash, an expression of agony across her youthful features. "Sometimes you have to believe things you can't see."

I looked down at my own drawing: a series of multicoloured squiggles lapping over each other in a confused jumble of colours and shapes. "How come I've never seen one then?"

"You probably have, honey," Mom explained, putting a few finishing touches to her artwork, her pink tongue sticking out between her red-painted lips as she concentrated. Her soft eyes lowered to look at me. "Sometimes they just like to hide themselves from us."

I replayed that conversation in my head every single day since my Mom died. At the time it felt ceremonious, ritualistic even, but now it just seems plain stupid. Mom was gone. She was never going to finish that conversation with me, or anyone else for that matter. 

The night was damp. Cabs raced past me with drunk adolescents in them; screaming with exultation, laughing with the idea of being free. They whipped up mist and rain as they zoomed down the highway, and I pulled my sweater closer around my body, conserving my body heat. The lights of the city buildings and apartments cast eerie pools of colour on the sidewalk and I dodged them, playing my own childish game of hopscotch. There was no beauty here, only pain. 

Pain.

I looked behind me, a sudden convulsion beyond my control forcing me to peer down the alleyway that loomed further down the sidewalk, darkness erupting from it like a gaping mouth. I shivered, and hitched my backpack further up my body. I had suffered enough horrors for the darkness of the night to scare me. My sneakers made sucking sounds against the tarmac as I walked faster, my ebony hair plastered against my pale forehead, my breath coming out in soft little sprays of steam as the night grew colder. 

There was someone behind me. I could feel it, as sharp and as discernible as ripping a band aid from a fresh wound. The shops turned into a frenzied blur as I began to run, abandoning everything I had ever learnt about safety on the streets since my Mom had been murdered.I could hear faintly sharp little pants from whoever was chasing me and I stumbled, suddenly distracted, just as an intense stabbing sensation raced up from my elbow to my shoulder. 

The night swallowed my screams. 

 

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