Angel

[Un****]

Once upon a time there was a girl with Angel’s wings. When she was little they were fluffy, small, the kind of downy texture you might see on a cygnet, but they were pure white. The teasing she suffered at school never bothered her. How could it, really? The taunts were half-hearted as those around her were never sure that she wasn’t half-fairy, or some strange other-worldly creature capable of magic, but whether she was or not, she inspired wonder, even adoration, and rarely malice. When she was eleven, she was the Angel in the school nativity play. She didn't speak, but she was the obvious choice. Even Jesus didn’t have half the applause that she had that night.

As she grew older, the colour of her feathers never changed, but their strength increased, and as she matured into a woman her wings grew with her. Strong. Beautiful. Her life was as ordinary as a woman with Angel’s wings could be.

She couldn’t fly, in case you were curious. But she could smile. When she was excited, her wings would tremble, and she found that she could wrap them around herself if she was cold, or unsure, or just nervous. Her smile was her magic, and she discovered over time that she seemed to bring out the best in people. Her very presence inspired calm, even serenity, and she grew to understand that she was different in a way beyond the obvious physical difference. People would talk to her, confide in her, somehow expecting that she would have answers, and she came to understand that although she was not in fact an Angel herself, just a girl with wings, her appearance confounded her otherwise unremarkable existence.

Over time, she began to feel the weight of these confidences. It was rare that she could let go and enjoy herself. In her early twenties, when her friends were discovering nightclubs and alcohol and men and women, she found herself an observer rather than a participant. Men either put her on a pedestal or avoided what they couldn’t understand; women adopted her, or protected her; occasionally both simply ignored her, assuming that somehow her desires were different, or simply non-existent.

Gradually she distanced herself from them, and became more solitary, preferring to discover the world from the relative anonymity of a computer, in a forum, or a chat room, and she discovered then that her friends – who were now dating, or marrying, or having babies, simply came to her for advice or sympathy. She grew tired of being an oracle, and ached for someone to discover her true inner being. She longed for someone to know her, rather than the Angel they perceived her, despite themselves, to be.

Sometimes, when she was alone, now living in her own small apartment, she would stand naked in front of the large full-length mirror and wonder why the simple fact that she had wings, made such a difference to her life. She was lithe, and beautiful, and surely worthy of someone to love her, be they man or woman. Sometimes, when she felt curious, or simply when she wanted to feel ‘something’ she would wrap her wings around herself, reach round and pluck a feather. The hurt was a short sharp ***, momentary yet somehow satisfying. If she had been chatting to someone online, quite often she would pluck two or three feathers, one after the other, and she relished the feelings of anticipation, momentary hurt, and the involuntary gasp that accompanied each self-inflicted wound. She would turn around and examine the small pinpricks of *** on her skin where the quills had left their mark. She kept all the feathers she removed, like souvenirs. Like trophies.

Over time, she placed the feathers in a vase. At first they were a small collection, then, as her desires grew, she replaced the vase with a marble base until eventually the collection resembled a plant – like some indoor bamboo or exotic palm. Feathers covered feathers, like a sculpture, and each one represented a piece of herself that she had torn from her body. Sometimes she carefully stroked them with her fingers, or parted them, like a lost fairy in a giant forest, remembering each occasion she had hurt herself. Each one was a combination of softness, with each hard barb a reminder of short-lived ecstasy.

One day, as she stood before the mirror, she noticed, for the first time, that her wings looked… thin. No longer was there a strength to them; no glory or power emanated from her; no more was she an Angel in human form; for the first time she looked ...thin, ragged, not merely slim and unique. The remnants of her wings were threadbare, meagre, lacklustre. Like a bird with mange.

For the first time in a long time, she smiled at her reflection.

“At last – I am becoming who I was meant to be.”

She turned, to gaze on her back, marked with dots of ***, some old, some still new and scabbed… different hues of dried ***, dark, red, some gently scarred…

Looking across at the magnificent sculpture, gently moving in the air-conditioned breeze, she wondered how much it would hurt to *** the feathers back into her skin, one by one by one by one … it could take a long time. If she savoured every thrust…

[PixieDust]

Truly Beautiful, I had tears reading this,  thank you for sharing with us 🧚‍♀️

[Deleted Member]

Well, I perceive this as someone ruining their uniqueness to become "normal".

Anyway, I relate to this paragraph:
"Gradually she distanced herself from them, and became more solitary, preferring to discover the world from the relative anonymity of a computer, in a forum, or a chat room, and she discovered then that her friends – who were now dating, or marrying, or having babies, simply came to her for advice or sympathy."
I'm basically doing the same, since my ruined body prevents me from doing anything else.

[sw****]

I too also distance myself with the online world so I do see that though I do also like the masochist touch to the story 😁

[Erotes-72]

Amazing and truly thought provoking. Our differences, the way we were made, shape our lives. Not the warmth of our heart or the kindness we display but the way that we look and in this world the thrill that we seek. Your story will fill my mind for days. Thank you