Vanilla Dusk ✓

Fallen Part 1

Two silhouettes landed on top of a steel-framed, tubular skyscraper that towered over an intricate network of congested crossroads, a botanic garden the size of two standard football pitches and hectic streets loaded with urban restaurants, high-fashion boutiques and a few shorter luxury modern residential buildings. Their shadows flitted past the ginormous concave-shaped windows, appearing as a thin flash of blacklight.

An old man was sitting in a wheelchair by the window on the thirteenth floor and as the light flickered overhead, he frowned, further twisting his already wrinkly, senile face, and muttered something unintelligible to the stout maid preparing brunch in the open kitchen. A five-year-old girl role-playing with her Barbie doll peeked up from her extravagant, well-furnished glittering doll house full of silky curtains, lace bedsheets and crystal decors, stood up from her nursery mats and scrambled to press her face against the window before yelling excitedly for her mother to catch the raven. A debauched eighteen-year-old was lying naked on his bed, with one arm draped around his girlfriend and his other hand holding a bong, taking a long puff of the high-class exotic weeds he had just imported from Europe. He glimpsed the dark flash and gestured for his girlfriend to lower the blinds.

On the rooftop where the autumn wind ravaged the untended tulip pots and unfenced vegetable patches on a daily basis, the two boys stood side by side in their white lace dress shirts and black tuxedos. For a fleeting moment, their black wings unfurled to the fullest before shrinking abruptly and vanishing into their backs, rendering a few of their detached velvety feathers floating along with the breeze in the air. The first boy had an androgynous face, with captivatingly long, thick eyelashes shaded by his lash-skimming fringe and sparkly porcelain skin, his dark choppy mid-length hair as feathery as his own wings – an epitome of dark grace and splendour. The black stud glistened on his right ear and behind it was a tiny mark in the shape of a scythe.

The second boy had a pale face, immaculate skin that was almost translucent in the light and his wavy, silky bangs were swept slightly to the right. He had the same mark engraved behind his right ear. Their eyes, black to their brims and hollow, were miniature abysses where light could penetrate but was never reflected. They stared down at the street below, where a lanky boy in his late teens was strolling with his best friend. He had pale blond hair just as smooth as the vanilla cone his friend was holding, wearing a faded purple sweater and grey gloves, a white wool scarf tightly wrapped around his neck. His best friend was apparently more resistant to the cold, barely wearing a white hoodie and savouring every lick of his dripping ice-cream.

'Jónar Anderson, male, eighteen, soul number 801839,' said the dark-haired boy, reading from an invisible list on his palm. 'Márus Jensen, male, nineteen, soul number 580391. Found them.'

He pointed at the two youngsters sauntering down a street full of branded stores and open cafes shadowed by a few oaks and encircled by high-rise office towers and deluxe malls. Some meters away there was a busy intersection with two flicking traffic lights opposite each other, a hectic labyrinth of accelerating vehicles, speeding bikes and scurrying pedestrians.

'In five minutes and twenty seconds, a truck with a malfunctioning brake will come dashing down and strike Jónar. Márus, in an attempt to shield him, will be dragged into the wheels and both will perish on the spot.'

The white-haired boy furrowed his brows, his eyes following the chatting duo with grins so wide as if they had just won another lottery, or got a free ticket to a weekend buffet, or received a rare praise from the sour-faced, irascible Literature teacher. Their oblivion and glee were almost painful to see. For the first time in the countless missions he had taken, and since his existence, he wanted to plummet down the building right away and fly past the two teens, dart in front of the catastrophic truck and block it with full might. Such an incorrigible thought had infiltrated his mind for quite a while and he couldn't help trembling and biting his bottom lip until a gentle pat fell on his shoulder and he tried to shake that sinful idea away.