Binary Star

Chapter 1.1

     The man's warm breath brushed past Dmitry's ear as he leaned over his victim, waiting for the last exhale. This was it, he could tell. Hazel eyes closed in a silent moment devoid of time and of emotion. This was the moment for the man who had just died, the only time anyone would dedicate to mourn him and to acknowledge his life. It was not that Dmitry cared. It was simply that it was his duty to mourn life. The hazel-eyed, far-too-skinny boy had felt it, just like he felt it every other time before: there was always a sort of fight, a reluctance, but ultimately, the soul always left the body unable to hold on any longer. It was that moment that had always captivated him, ever since that day. He knew first-hand what that felt like, and though he avoided giving any indication of this, he desperately chased after that feeling in hopes of perhaps making it his own again someday.

Some might have called it craziness. Others, a last-attempt at clinging to his past. Whatever the reason and the cause, he enjoyed feeling death and at the same time, abhorred it with every fiber of his being. It was dying that had changed everything. It was dying that had made him into whatever kind of patchwork creature he was now. He had been called an angel by some, but his wings speckled in black feathers told another story entirely. Angels had no black feathers, not a single one, not even gray. Their wings were pure white, bright enough to blind onlookers. Dark colorlessness was reserved for the demons down below and yet, demons had no white feathers either, nor gray ones. Dmitry had all three colors. This fact alone was enough to put him in quite the awkward position when it came to celestial and infernal affairs. There was, after all, a war going on between the two realms. He, with his unclear alignment and even muddier identity was not trusted in either place, not welcome, and definitely not an ally to either side.

So then, what was he?

     A murderer, he thought to himself, a murderer like none other. It was acts like these that caused his feathers to burn up until they turned black, like tar. So why, then, did he insist on continuing to commit them? Why, then, did he carry on sinning against God, a God who had given him a second chance? Justice, that's why. Was murder really a sin, after all, if the victim deserved it? Was murder really wrong if it was for the greater good? Was murder really murder if it was punishment?

But then, who was he to decide? Not God, certainly.

     God, who was watching everything, who had tossed him back into the real world without any indication of what to do other than newfound angelic instinct; that God was clearly not completely satisfied with what Dmitry was doing. Otherwise, he wouldn't have barred the human-turned-angel out of Heaven. But then, clearly, God wasn't entirely displeased with what Dmitry was doing either, since he hadn't outright tossed him into Hell yet. By now, Dmitry had figured out he had some sort of purpose to follow, and he simply hadn't understood what that purpose was yet. It wasn't like it was clearly spelled out for him in skywriting behind a red Piper or a yellow Cessna. Maybe it was in some book somewhere, but Dmitry had clearly not gotten around to reading it yet. As for prayers, all those went unanswered- at least in the ways Dmitry thought of paying attention to. He simply didn't understand this whole thing. All he knew was that the man on the floor next to him, the one that had just given his last breath, was dead by his hand.

     After the moment of silence for the dead man, Dmitry stood back up and without looking back, walked away.