Another night in a row, another surge of chills, flooding me from head to toe. I felt them in all my limbs, going from the state of numbness to the authentic feeling of smoking. I threw myself on the cold tiles in the bathroom, barricading the door with all the weight of my shaky back. I started screaming. All the air that I managed to gather in my lungs escaped me with every despairing cry thrown into the ether. I wanted so much to get away from it. It came to me every night, sneaking into the corners of my room and stuck my piercing eyes at me. I realized that we are not really afraid of the dark without a reason. We are afraid of what is hiding under the cover of the night. We are afraid of what we don't know, because we are aware that what's the unknown weighs the most, crushing our chest with each voice sneaking into the corners of the mind. I wanted to free myself, fly away into the sky. I have wings, I have just saw them in the mirror.

theme, mirror, and grunge image building, praying, and sculpture image angel, dark, and theme image alone, lonely, and sadness image

Could it be?

Slowly, I crawled on all fours toward the sink, supporting my hands with the furniture. Someone might think I'm hungover because I certainly didn't look like a sane person. I just tried to turn off my thoughts for a moment. I barely raised my head, swallowing hard, which turned into a big bump in my throat. I'm not a human. I've never been one. First of all... I've never felt like one. If I were, I wouldn't look as such a pathetic creature now, tangled with my own fear.
The only thing I could see were the angel's empty eyes with outstretched wings.

And I thought angels were brave.

-The Starchild.
Excerpt from a book I'll write someday.