Empty
Song: Bad For Buisness by Vinnie Ferra
(A/N: An Iggy chapter. Please, please look the song up on Youtube and listen to it while watching...)
Iggy
I'm all alone. I suppose that it doesn't matter to anyone but me. My parents want me turned into some kind of circus. The Flock pulls me along like the last bead on a necklace, or something. I can't even see without help, despite even my best efforts to enhance and hope that my finger-sight would move to my eyes. Maybe it's silly, maybe it's a worthless situation. Maybe I don't matter; I feel like that everytime I'm with anyone that doesn't understand.
I'm in a dark alley, sirens of a police car and barking of dogs echoing in the distance. I slump down against the wall, feeling my hand smack the alley's soggy concrete, cracked and lined with weeds. I press one hand to my forehead, concealing from the invisible my empty tears as they fall down my face. I return to my fevered thoughts. My wings make a feathery curtain against the world and its misunderstanding arms. What if I want to do something other than run for my life?
What if I want a future, what if I have a dream, too? All of us aren't meant to save the world. Some of us just want something that yet remains unattainable. I suppose that somewhere, sometime, there was someone that understood or understands me. Wherever they are, they certainly haven't met me yet. I rub my sighless eyes, willing them to show me the world. My clothes are soaked from the drizzle that's falling, they're clinging to me: a wet, cold drapery for myself. Who knows where the Flock, my family, is. They've done what they can. They can't save me from the live that I'm destined to live. One of pain, and hoplessness, and struggle...all without anyone else. Something clops into the alley, snapping me out of my thoughts. I freeze, as silent as a brick on the wall I'm sitting against. Whoever it us, they sit down next to me, panting heavily. I may have been dreaming, but I thought that a slick feather brushed mine. I lowered my wings. Someone gasped in front of me.
"You're...you're...like me." A girl's voice spoke. A smaller voice spoke after her, more childish.
"Like mommy!" it said in a quickly hushed whisper. I reached out and felt the side of the little voice's face. It was small and chubby: a toddler's. It had straight black hair that fell in its little face, A girl no more than two, I guessed.. The holder of it took my hand and cradled it in hers.
"I'm Willow, and this is Elle. We're running from these...wolf...things. Please, just help us." She begged, her voice cracking.
"Please believe me." Willow pleaded. I took a hand to her cheek. It came away wet with tears. She had tannish, olive skin, and damp brown hair.
"I believe you."
Elle kissed me quickly on the cheek. My eyes widened. Little, soft, downy wings grew from her tiny back. I held her to me.
"She's my...daughter." Willow said ashamedly. I held Elle's little body closer to mine; she was cold.
"Elle's father was...was...like us, too. He disappeared right before I had her. I'm searching for my brother, we've heard that he can help us."
My expression was grim.
"His...his name is Fang."