This is the piece done from a photo prompt...what I want to know is ; does it make sense on its own? This has inspired a longer piece that I'm still gestating...I'll post in the WIP thread when it comes to fruition
I found it!
Fallen Angel; by Kelly Gorski 10/05
Flaxen tresses tangled in my tiny fingers as I looked up into her face. Her bright blue eyes were shining orbs as she gazed down upon my naked body with love and awe.
Father had taken me within moments of my birth wrapped in his warm black wings. He placed me back in mother’s arms only after I satiated myself at the breast of a stranger. My mother’s name is Bronwyn and when I am in her arms I grip tightly because I know Father will soon take me to that odd smelling woman to feed.
Several times, I have seen Mother shed tears while cradling her engorged breasts. I wanted to drink from her but Father said no,
“I don’t want Bronwyn hurt” I had to learn to use my teeth, he said. They were as sharp as razors and so diminutive that one could hardly see them, but once I finally tasted that first drop of blood, the hunger preceded any fondness I had for Mother.
I rode into life on a river of blood, slipping easily from between Mother’s legs.
Once we were cleaned up, Mother was led through a field of poppies to an isolated concrete platform with a throne that rested against a huge Goddess figure carved from stone. Her legs were chained to the base, hidden beneath her flowing dress.
Father had the stone embellished with all of the finery a deity should wear; a bronze breastplate covered with jewels surrounded my imprisoned Mother.
I heard Father talking to my Nurse,
“Bronwyn will feel safe here, she won’t want to escape, and perhaps her milk will dry soon” Then I heard murmuring as Nurse replied in a soft manner.
Father usually wasn’t visible; he was a shadow that changed forms as the sun moved in the sky.
Mother looked sad. The sweet liquid I so craved pulsed beneath her veins, but the milk leaked all over the thin bodice of her dress.
Soon, I could see clearly beyond her face. That hair went on forever, changing direction with the wind. Once again, my wet fist grabbed at her amber hair. The quivering of blood danced with her steady heartbeat, enticing me with every thrum. Luckily, Father retrieved me in time.
What I stole from my portly Nurse woke up all of my senses. I watched as wind rustled the crimson poppies like a serene river disturbed by a rock. I could see my mother from a distance.
Ensnared to the throne, I heard as Mother turned towards her Deity,
“How could you leave me like this Mother?” She asked.
I felt her grief as she once again rested her back on the dazzling breastplate of the Goddess.
I couldn’t help but love Father each night as he plucked me from her arms, placing me in the firm grip of Nurse.
Practicing with my needlelike teeth, I pierced her flesh, taking in the tangy nourishment along with her sweet milk.
Mother wept audibly. Father beamed in the moonlight.
There were others, older than me. They would sometimes carry me back to Mother.
With each drop that I received from Nurse, Mother became less and less important to me.
Father showed himself to her one night.
“You look the same” she said.
Clearly a man, he wore wings like an angel only they were black, his skin ashen, eyes sunken, teeth like mine, only larger.
He reached below the platform and pulled out a glass of liquid, clear as water.
“Drink” he held it out to her,
“No” she asserted.
“Drink or you’ll never see him again Bronwyn” His voice grim and serious. She reluctantly took the urn and drank.
He vanished like smoke wisping around the corner. Her teeth chattered. With heavy eyes, she leaned her head back. I clung for hours before she turned cold. He allowed us to be together until her body stiffened.
I didn’t even miss Mother. Evil had won, Father laughed. He had given her potion that would paralyze her body. Cradling me in his bat-like wings, I wondered with admiration if he had fallen from the heavens.
The others helped Father drag her onto the pyre of wood. Once it was well lit, he pushed her into the river.
Watching, knee deep from the field of poppies we all saw as she sat up. The charm had worn off.
“Pity” He said.
Unearthly screams rose as cloaked in her own burning hair, she vanished. Father smiled down at me. My eyesight was good, but I still couldn’t watch as my Mother burned alive, her ashes crackling above the still waters.
“I have much to teach you son” He said, turning me over to Nurse who was sore and pallid from all of that bloodletting.