Monday, December 19, 2011

Lucifer in Los Angeles - Chapter One - Pain

The impact breaks both of my wings.

It is excruciating.

All the beautiful and weightless moments I have witnessed flying, soaring, gliding, and racing flash before my eyes and spiral away to a pinpoint - then disappear. Curved arcs of horizons, atmospheres, planets, universes... galaxies fade away. I am no longer a sky creature. I am landlocked, trapped in this perspective. Stuck at this limited point. I am on my back, staring at the sky... with longing and fear.

That isn’t excruciating. I have never felt physical pain until now. White hot, gut-wrenching, stabbing, relentless bolts of unhappiness. It is impossible to integrate, a separate thing from me that I renounce - which is futile. It clouds every bit of my focus such that I cannot assess what kind of being I now am, or exactly where I find myself. I do not know what I can and cannot do. All I know is I must find some escape. My scapulae are searing. I reach back to feel my tertials and coracoid are shattered. I cannot move my wings at all other than when shrugging my shoulders without my inner wing structure. My hand comes back full of blood-soaked feathers. I have never lost a feather.

I roll onto my side and it’s clear from the pain that I have broken my outer wing bones as well. My arm scrapes against concrete and I jerk away, wrenching my right wing into my body at an angle it couldn’t move were my bones intact. The pain makes me retch and I vomit blood, stomach acid, and bile. I have never vomited. It is agony. I have no muscle tone, my abdomen is tortured with convulsions, my respiratory system burns and my nose runs and I have the hiccoughs. I lie there, panting, dry heaving, and weeping for what seems like hours. My head throbs, aches and I am nauseous and sensitive to light and sound. The pain begins in my wings and travels through my shoulders around the crown of my head ending at my forehead. I no longer have any innate sense of or control over time. The frustration defeats me - but it is not excruciating.

Upon impact and the feeling of pain I know that I am on Earth. I hear the white noise of freeway traffic. I sit up finally and look down at my form and it is human, not humanoid. I am a woman, a flabby, limp, muscle-less human in an adult body with blood and puke soaked useless, spasming, shedding wings, sitting in my own filth in the Los Angeles River. My halo is gone. This is not where I am supposed to be. This is not who I am. That is the excruciating part.

Only God could know I would prefer Hell to Los Angeles.

What a sick fucking joke.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Ha! Welcome to the City of Angels. Or perhaps Fallen Angels in your case