Black and White

I turn over, deep in sleep, oblivious to the world around me. Gently, the light caresses my eyelids and I enter the realm of the living. Something feels uncomfortable. My back. Something’s wrong with it. I start at the thought of some disgusting lizard on my back and jump up, turning round and round, trying to get the thing off my back. It doesn’t work, but with every jerk, I feel a force on an unfamiliar muscle. Once I’m assured it’s not a creepy-crawly, the fear abates and sleep returns. Maybe I can deal with this tomorrow, or today, or whenever. Just sleep now. Go back to bed.

“mwhhwhhh...whhaahtt?” My best friend, woken up by my crazy jerky dance on the bed, opens half an eye, unable to form any words. I watch as her one eye opens completely in shock, and then the other. She gets up and rubs her eyes, and, quite uncharacteristically, actually manages to speak clearly at seven in the morning.

“What the hell? What the absolute hell have you done?”

“What have I done?”

“You oblivious idiot. Look at your back."

I turn to look. Two magnificent white wings sprawl out over the covers, the delicate feathers in sharp contrast with the black sheets. I get out of bed, stretch my arms and back, and crack my neck.

“Ouch. Don’t do that” Sasha is looking at me with wide, fearful eyes.

“What?”

“The cracking. Also, the complete and creepy silence on discovering you have two fucking wings.” She emphasises the curse word.

My shoulder blades are now painfully sore, and I try to rest my wings on the bed. They seem to have muscles, but ones I can’t seem to command. I pick them up with my hands, but the soft feathers slip out of my tenuous grip. No surprise, given that I’m trying to reach behind my back. I finally sit down on the bed. Sasha is still staring. I get the sense that I need to react to this new body part that I seem to have acquired, but I don’t panicked. I feel strangely calm. I am sure this is just a new weird biological development, and my dad will be able to take care of it. That’s what doctors do, after all.

“Are you fucking serious? You’re just going to sit there? You just got wings! Fucking wings. Say something.”

“I like them.” I voice, softly, and in that moment, I realize that yes, indeed, I do like them a lot. The muscles are limp and out of my control, but there is still a little sensation in them. The feathers, silken and even, range from my shoulder blades to the V-shaped tip of each wing. I do like them.

“Well duh. But what are you going to do? And how did this happen? And what will we tell everyone else?” Reality starts to sink in with every word of hers. I wake up suddenly, uncourteously wrenched from my peaceful state. My mind brims with questions, my heart with fear, and I realize what this might mean.

I catch Sasha’s eye. She seems to be thinking the same thing. We both stare at each other.

“I have wings.” I say, and we burst out laughing. “I have wings. Wings.”

“Yes, wings.”

“Wings.”

“Wings. I know.”

“That is at once the coolest and most dramatic thing that will ever happen to me.” I feel calm again. No, Not calm, I’m delirious, and strangely complete. I don’t think of the future, but only of the present.

We sit on the bed. Saying nothing, both in our own thoughts. Wondering how we can possibly explain to her parents how I miraculously gained wings at our sleepover.

Then Sasha’s eyes go wide, her mouth hangs open and she tilts her head back. She seems to be rendered speechless, but nevertheless in extreme pain. I rush over to her side, awkwardly balanced because of the two new appendages. Her fists are clenched, long nails digging into skin. I try to hold her, but there is an energy around her that burns my fingertips. I watch in horror as, just where her shoulder blades seem to meet, a darkness grows and assembles, slowly becoming bigger and splitting into two. It convulses, currents of black move and assemble into a clear and familiar shape.

Her wings are exactly like mine. But jet black.

She doubles over, panting, for a moment. I whisper softly to her, telling her it’s okay, it’s over. She then looks up, and into my eyes. She is pained no longer, but her eyes send a clear message.

We both know it’s not over. And we can both feel the trouble brewing.