Young Writers Society

I awoke rather abruptly to a hard slap in the face and a loud cry of "Wake up!"

I groaned and rubbed my cheek. "Wha..?" I blinked several times to clear my vision and slowly sat up.
A man of around twenty years knelt over me and the first thing I noticed about him was his eyes. They lacked all human eye quality. No pupils or eye whites, just one solid shade of silver that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.

Startled, I attempted to get up and run but my strength failed and I ended up falling backwards . "Get away!" I croaked. My throat felt dry and strained. Had I been screaming? I couldn't remember.

"Easy, I'm not going to hurt you." The man said slowly. His voice seemed rough and underused. "Obviously someone beat me to it." He gestured to my shoulder. I directed my gaze to the spot he was pointing at.

My shirt was soaked with blood.

I gasped and felt my shoulder, expecting the worst.

Nothing.

No wound, no fresh blood, no scar, not even a scratch.

"That's weird...." The man murmured. He stood up and offered his hand to me, which I took after a slight hesitation. "It was a tattered mess just yesterday. I didn't really get a close examination, but from what I could tell, there was blood everywhere."

I gripped the man's shoulder, struggling to stay standing but I staggered back when I felt something at his shoulder blades. Feathers. I jumped back, loosing my footing and falling again. My vision was still a little blurry but from what I could make out, this man had a pair of ragged auburn wings folded against his back. "You're not a human...." I managed to say.

He shrugged. "It appears not." He held out his hand for me to take again.

I didn't move.

"What are you?" I asked.

"I'm a Volucris." He replied simply. "I thought you humans knew about us."

I shook my head. "You're not a Volucris."

"Oh? And how's that?"

"Volucri are animals. They aren't sentient." I said, confused.

He raised an eyebrow. "And who told you that?"

I paused, trying to think. "I... I don't remember."

He shrugged. "Well, then it's not important. Now, come on, let's get you cleaned up."

*******************

I was lead to a small shack in a clearing a short distance from where I awoke. Or at least, what appeared to be a shack at first glance. The truth was, it was only one wall. Just a door attached to a rotted wooden structure standing about eight feet tall. I flashed a weary glance at the Volucris, absolutely certain that he was insane. He only grinned and helped me to the door.

With one swift turn of the knob, the door swung open.

I gasped.

The room was vast. Finely furnished by velvet-cushioned chairs, a beautifully carved wooden table and an antique bookshelf that took up most of the far wall. Paintings hung in carefully-placed positions along the walls and and an elaborate gold and maroon carpet lay atop smooth hardwood flooring.

I stood dumbstruck, jaw agape and eyes wide. "How-"

"There'll be time for explanations later." He said. "Right now, you need to wash that mud off. You're coated in it." He walked over to a wooden chest that sat beside the long bookshelf. "You'll need to change too. I can give you some of my clothes, but they'll be a little big on you." He pulled out an old black shirt and a pair of tattered jeans that seemed incredibly out of place in such a formally decorated room. "Sorry about the holes in the back of the shirt." He said, tossing them to me. "Gotta let the wings breathe, you know?"

I only nodded. I was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by everything.

"There's a stream 'round back. Just come back here when you're done." He told me. "Name's Finch by the way. And you are...?"

"Dusk." I replied before heading out the door.

*******************
The stream was as still as glass and as reflective as a mirror. Nothing stirred.

It wasn't the stillness that I found unnerving, but the silence. The only sound I could detect was the soft rhythm of my own breathing and the thumping of my heart.

I took a deep breath and pulled off my tattered clothes, a little wearily, though, hoping I wasn't being watched. I stood at the edge of the river, hesitating to brake the surface for fear of upsetting whatever kept everything so still.

Taking a deep breath, I waded into the water, watching as ripples formed and glided across the surface, warping its mirror images.

I tried not to think as I washed the mud and dried blood from my body. Too much had happened already and I still couldn't remember anything from before I awoke this morning. I could make out blurred images and muffled voices hidden in my memories, but nothing was clear.

I sighed, closing my eyes and letting my mind wander.

And suddenly, a forceful blow knocked me off my feet.