The City of The Fallen

Chapter One

I remember history classes when we were told of times when Angles didn’t need to face Problems to grow into their wings; they were born with them. Their wings were their own, the same colour as their eyes, or their hair, or whatever colour they wanted them to be. Then came the Revolution, where mortals found out about the Society. We fought back as hard as we could, but we just couldn’t harm the mortals in any way.

Legend spoke of a young Angel, Gabriel, who tried to lead the Angels down a dark path, a path that caused us to lose our very essence. He believed that once we followed the path, and harnessed it, mortals would be the ones bowing down to us; they would be the ones hiding, not us. To do this, however, Societies had to fight each other to see who was the more dominant, the more aggressive, and more worthy of the power. That was what caused the Society-wide wars; Societies fighting each other to prove a point. Angels lost their essence, became shadows of their former selves.

Matthew told me once that we all have the same coloured wings because we needed to be distinguished from the other Societies. As if we couldn’t be distinguished anyway. Adults walked the streets with their soft brown feathers fluttering in the breeze. Their wings, tall, wide and beautiful, brought colour to the otherwise dull streets. Everyone looked identical; black trousers or office skirts, white shirts or blouses, black jackets and long, thick grey trench coats. Sure, they looked smart and wealthy, but everyone looked the same.

Since the Revolution, no one had been able to show their individualism. They weren’t able to express themselves. It was wrong, very wrong, but there was no way to change it.

I watched as one of Matthew’s friends, Skyler, had his photos taken with his friends by a hired photographer. Skyler was beautiful in the unearthly way adult Angels have. His deep brown hair was soft and silky, shining in the midday sun. His eyes, the colour of the deepest ocean, sparkled with laughter as Matthew pulled some funny faces at him. His skin, as brown as the creamiest latte, seemed to glow. And his wings, the same soft brown colour as other adults, but not as wind-ruffled, moved with unpractised ease and grace as Skyler laughed. They truly were a part of him; the most beautiful part.

I sighed to myself and turned my head, not wanting to witness it. Skyler was only a week older than Matthew, and barely completed his Problem without any injuries. Rumours were spread around the Society as soon as the Elders deemed Skyler’s Problem ‘complete’; he had to face a gang of angry mortals, furious at Skyler for stealing their alcohol and food; he had to face the father of a love-sick teenage girl, whom thought she was pregnant with his baby; he was attacked by animals creeping too close to the Society Borders, and had nothing to defend himself with apart from his fists.

I knew these were all lies, even though the second rumour unsettled me. I had a crush on Skyler. It started when I was six, and he was about to turn nine; Matthew was running around the Common with one of my dolls. She was my favourite, with pink dyed wings, deep purple eyes and hair as black as the night, much like me. I was chasing him, wanting my doll back before he did something undeniably cruel for an eight year old, like tearing her head off or throwing her into some mud.

Somewhere between leaving our two storey cottage and following Matthew into the empty cobbled streets of the Common, I had fallen on uneven pavement and scraped my knee. I was sat for a few minutes crying and holding onto my injured knee, not daring to take a look at the small amount of blood I managed to set free, when I felt a presence in front of me.

I had looked up, expecting it to be an adult to take me to the Medical Centre to bandage me up, but instead I saw an eight year old boy. I recognised him from when I would wait for Matthew at the end of school; He and this boy were in the same class, but never spoke. Silently, he knelt down beside me and brought my hand away from my knee. He had a frown line on his forehead as he examined my knee, determining how bad the eight year old thought it was before he looked back up at me.

“I should take you to see my mum.” He said, still examining the cut. “She’s the Doctor. She will be able to fix it up and make it as good as new.” He jumped to his feet and held his hand out to me. I took it, slowly and shyly, and stood up also. “My name’s Skyler.”

“I’m-” I began, but was interrupted by my brother running up to me. He noticed my scraped knee and began to panic

“Melody! What happened?” Matthew began to fuss over me as the two boys led me to the Medical Centre. “Melody?”

“Melody?”

“Melody!”

I was startled out of my daydream by someone shouting my name in my ear. My eyes focused and I looked towards the source of the noise; Matthew. ‘Hm? Oh, sorry.’ I smiled sheepishly at him. ‘Kinda got lost in my thoughts. What did you want?’

 ‘Mum and Dad were just leaving; they wanted to know if you were leaving, too.’ Matthew turned his head, distracted by someone shouting his name from somewhere in the crowd. He looked back at me. ‘I mean, you’re just standing there, not taking part like always.’

I frowned at my brother. I only wasn’t taking part because there wasn’t really anything to do, apart from eating, drinking, dancing and talking. I don’t have any friends... well, that one line just summed me up. No friends = no fun. No fun = Boring. Boring = Leave the Celebration Now Before You Ruin the Atmosphere.

‘I was about to head back, anyway. There’s a test in History tomorrow, and I wanna do some last minute revision. Give Skyler my congratulations again, will you?’ I turned and left before Matthew could say anything else to me. I ducked my head, looking at the ground as I weaved in and out of everyone. Our cottage was on the other side of town, so it would take at least half an hour for me to walk back. There was a short cut close by, but in order to use it, you have to walk past the Borders.

I looked back at the party, unsurprised to see that no one has noticed my absence. Matthew had gone back to Skyler, and they were laughing at something. I bet he didn’t give Skyler my congratulations.

I eyed the Border close by. No one had noticed me missing, and my parents probably weren’t home yet. It wouldn’t do me any harm if I turned and took the short cut home.

With that decided, I turned on the tips of my toes, my blue ballet shoes crunching the gravel, and headed towards the dark, somewhat scary, banned path along the Border.

Fifteen minutes into my walk home, a disturbance in the bushes caught my attention. I was singing a mortal song, something to do with love, and was nearing my cottage when I saw it. It was brief, a quick movement in the corner of my eye, but I noticed it.

My curiosity peaked. A million questions ran through my head, but I didn’t give myself enough time to listen to them before I found myself moving towards the disturbance. I looked around the area, my eyes taking in every piece of the Border I was walking across. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I was ready to turn back to the cottage when I saw it again. It was barely there that time, but I managed to see it.

My mind was screaming at me to turn around, to go home before I got myself into trouble, but my body wouldn’t listen. It led me to the rose bush that seemed to move by itself, even though there wasn’t a breeze strong enough to move even the lightest of leaves.

I knelt down in front of the bush and cautiously moved a branch out of the way. There, knelt down in the same position as me, with one hand on a branch and the other on his wounded arm, was a boy. He must have been at least sixteen, if not seventeen. His hair was a rich brown with a single streak of white on the right side of his face. His grey eyes were filled with pain and shock, most probably at seeing someone so close to the Border.

The Border!

Realisation dawned on me and I turned ice cold from fright.

I was sitting on one side of the Border; he was sitting on the other. Our arms passed through the invisible barrier that kept mortals away, yet he was able to see me, as clear as day.

I let a mortal see me. No matter how unintentional, I still willingly let him look at me. Still staring at him in shock and slight fright, I could see his eyes glaze over as he was given false memories of knowing me. This was definitely not good.