Cheyanne Ross
Angel
Worthington Industries cast a menacing shadow, shielding Warren's eyes from the glaring sun. Workers poured out of the towering building for the lunch time rush like ants leaving the nest. The horde of worker ants busily roamed the streets, their route, pre-determined. Warren hunched his shoulders, bracing himself against the crowd. He glanced up at the empire and branded at the very top was the Worthington logo and below it, his father's slogan in bold letters, 'One species, One future'. Despite his lead feet, he dragged on towards the building, his eyes skipping between the pigeons fluttering freely out of his path. He adjusted his trench coat to better hide the shape of his wings underneath and instinctively lowered his head in response to the nearby shouting. Will I be part of that future?
The front doors of Worthington Industries were blocked off by an army of his father's supporters. Their signs featured the Worthington logo, anti-mutant symbols and an array of discriminatory phrases. Warren clenched his teeth at the sight of them and quickened his pace. Just get the cure, and you won't have to worry about them anymore. You'll be normal. His father's voice echoed in his mind. He anxiously clasped his mother's necklace, a simple cross, as he rushed on. Warren stopped mid-stride. The crowd's attention was focused towards its centre, towards a young lady with horns attempting to safely make it inside. Abusive language, chants and physical violence were directed towards her. She should have hidden them better. He took a tentative step forward, but his attention was redirected to a pang in his back. He rolled his shoulders, tried to flex his wings a little in their restrictive harness. They'll treat you the same way, they won't accept you. Even with the Worthington name behind you. Warren lowered his gaze and shrunk back into the shadows. He headed towards the back door with a hurried pace. His father would be growing impatient. Warren took one last glance up at the Worthington logo before entering the building. It's the only way.
Just outside the treatment room Warren stood frozen, trapped in the grey chasm between certainty and doubt. His heartbeat was thunderous compared to the eerie silence. His clammy hand clenched and unclenched the necklace, unsure. What's wrong with my wings? He shook his head, trying to perish the thought, and clenched his hands at his side. I'm a mutant, I'm an abomination. That's what's wrong. Warren focused on the Worthington logo, printed on the opaque door, trying to ignore the quivering in his stomach and the sweat along his hair line. His hand moved to wipe away the sweat. Worthington's don't get nervous. He took a deep breath in, noting the smell of bleach seeping out of the room. His hand trembled as he raised it to the door. His finger traced his father's logo, a 'W' centred in a circle; Worthington stamped on the Earth. The ice cold of the door caused him to shiver. One Species One Future. The cure is the only way I can be part of it. He placed his whole hand on the cool door, his palm directly over the 'W', and pushed forward. Time to be a Worthington.
The still frosty air hit him like a brick wall, stunning him. His father and the nurses abruptly ceased their conversation and turned towards him. Of course, they were talking about me. Father was probably growing impatient. Warren thickly swallowed, and edged forward to the centre of the room. Goosebumps rose on his skin as he hesitantly removed his shirt. He caught sight of his father turn away, avoiding sight of him. Warren cast his eyes downwards, focusing on his shoes rather than the pang in his heart. It's not for much longer. It'll be fine soon. He winced as his bare feet touched the chilling ground. Only his wings stopped him from shivering, enveloping him with same warmth as his late mother's hugs. He glanced at the mirror, his eyes drawn to the Worthington logo branded on the harness restricting his wings. He tried to shift his wings, yearning for their release, for freedom. I can't, Father forbids it. He paused in his movements, the harness protects me; the cure will save me. But at what cost? Father doesn't understand that my wings are a part of me; their softness, their strength, their warmth. He turned away towards the impatient nurses surrounding the table. He's right though. Life would be so much simpler. The workers, the protesters, they knew their purpose. They were normal. Warren sighed. Father used to be so proud of me. Why did he have to find me in the bathroom that night? Why couldn't he have stayed out like I told him? He changed so much after that. Each day he locked himself away in his tower, searching for a cure, working to uphold the Worthington name, to keep the W stamped on the Earth. I can't let him down. Can I?
Warren's need for acceptance drove him forward, one step at a time. He laid on the table, his wings protecting him from the freezing steel. His heart started to race, is it worth being a Worthington?
The nurses strapped down his limbs, the leather biting into his skin. They turned to the medical supplies and picked up several large needles. The cure. Warren's breathing grew shallow. He twisted his wrist in the restraints, instinctively pulling against them. The nurses step closer, the pointed needles on the forefront of his mind. I can't do this. His mouth goes dry, the acidic taste of dread apparent.
"Father, can we talk about this?" Heart beating rapidly, sweat dripping down his forehead, he pleaded to his father.
"We talked about this, it's time to be cured. Time to take your rightful place by my side." His father says dismissively.
Warren's eyes grow wide. He doesn't care. Realisation dawned on him and all his fears hovered to the surface. He doesn't love me. He strained against the restraints, the straps digging into his skin. He shifted his wings, flexed them, trying to get the restraints to give, for the harness to break. The nurses weren't phased, his father shook his head. I need my wings, I won't let him take them from me. He used his wings to forcibly push against the restraint and in an instant, they snapped. Warren leapt up from the table, his wings unfolded to their full span, brilliant and white like an angel's.
His father gawked at him, stunned. His stunned expression quickly turned to one of disapproval and revulsion. "Now son…"
Son? He glared at his father, breathing heavily from his escape. Anger ignited in his heart and burned through his body. I haven't been your son since you saw me that day, abandoned me. I'm just an ant to you, just like those you look down upon from the top of this tower. No. This isn't about me, this is about you. This is about the Worthington name.
"I'm not your son." Warren lunged towards the window, dazzling white feathers shielding him as he crashed through it. The glass shattered and his wings unfurled basking in the warmth of the sunlight, not anymore.
He glided through the sky, south, over the crowds of ants below, his heart soaring. He had faith his wings would keep him safe. I don't want to be a Worthington, I'm Angel. I always have been. Warren flew with the birds and never glanced back. Soon Worthington Industries was nothing but a spec on the horizon.
Cheyanne Ross