• White so pure it blinds is everywhere, but they at least will leave us to ourselves. That is all we want right? To be by ourselves because they make us feel trapped. Scared. The men in the white coats, with the red stains and the smell of blood and adrenaline because they are hunting us, and now they have us. But they put us in a room that was white, and left us there, and we know they will come back and torture us in front of each other and say that it is fine because it is in the name of God. So we wait and grow terrified. I know these men were once like us. They were once like us and were living, breathing, feeling beings. Now all they know is hunting. Hunting us.
    Even though it is white and pure I can see the darkness everywhere. It cascades off the walls in delicate rivulets, dripping onto the floor, where it puddles under our feet. It fills the air, so that when we breathe, the smell of iron and sorrow blurs our vision. It seeps into our skin and enters our veins, poisoning us slowly as our own bodies pump it to our heart’s end. I close my eyes and wait until I hear the shouts of my comrades. The men take them away and don’t even give us the grace of going farther than the door to kill them. My former friends, family, and neighbors scream, and give way before they even hit he ground. The darkness then feeds on their blood. It engulfs whole pools of the red fluid and festers in it. It grows to a form of rabid beast. Then, coiling like a strangling python, it smothers out the light.
    I retreat to a corner, repulsed by my own cowardice. The tears drip into the blood, and the darkness comes to greedily drink them from my face. It lies to my, promising me pleasures and freedom from my hell. It whispers in my ear, and, alluring, its words strike through to my heart, completely silent, yet clearer than the screams. I try to resist, I try to keep away, but my heart is burning and my head is reeling. Then a hand is on my shoulder. The lips pressed to my ear are soft, forgiving. Fight. That is what you once did and must do now. If you do, I will too.
    The voice is silvery and kind, yet strong and true. It echoes in my head, yet not out loud. I take a choking breath of darkness and stand. The hand on my shoulder runs along my arms to my wrists, and another joins the opposite. Someone or something is pressed up against my back, both warm and living, yet piercing icy cold at the same time. My muscles tense, and I brace myself. The screams obscure my thinking. A face pressed against my hair murmurs something to me. Fight. And I will fight with you. The screams stop. The noises stop. It is like a film without sound.
    My movements are quick, faster than I was ever capable of. There are only a few living left in the room. I am sure to avoid them in my fury. My foot collides with a hunter’s head with inhuman speed, and blood sprays to one side. I kick one flat in the chest, then the side. He is left retching blood. I dispatch of the others likewise. There were too many to count. No matter how many I kill, there are always more, filing in to take place of the dead. The darkness ravishes here. It eats at the dead men’s bodies, both my kind and the hunters alike. Hours draw by slowly. I am bleeding in several places, and yet my guardian never leaves me. It gives me energy when I am tired, force behind each battle, and hope when mine is gone. I don’t realize I am outside until the last one is dead. Fresh air brings the scent of death back at me.
    I am still crying, and now shaking. My guardian lets go of my wrist, but holds me up as it steps to the side. I get a full view of it for the first time. A near human male stands by my side. Near because he has a silvery sheen to his pale skin, eyes so blue they near glow, and wings that tower from over his head when folded. He wears nothing but a pair of simple white trousers, and he is just as splattered with blood as I. His hair is shaggy and also white, rippling and moving freely through the wind. His whole form seems shifty, fleeting, as though he isn’t real.
    “Are you really……?’’ My voice is weak, near nonexistent.
    No. I am not an angel. I am what you get when one’s heart dies.
    “A Fallen?” I had heard stories of those. They always were grotesque though, half dead. “You don’t look like……..”
    No. I am a reincarnation of one that died before it finished falling. A cruel by-product that was trapped in that room for too long.
    I would love to ask questions, but my own adrenaline has worn off, and my body is threatening to black out. I decide my next ones carefully. “The others…”
    Died. Not your fault. They did not have the protection you did.
    “Oh.” My voice breaks, but I have to rush my next question, for the black spots across my vision are filling in the light. No time to grieve. “Why me?”
    They had all let the darkness in. They had given up. But you resented your cowardice, and tried to fight it. You were the only one with hope. They wouldn’t have tried to save themselves.
    I try to nod, but the darkness closes in, and I crumple into his arms. He half carries my mass to the side of a stone wall, and leans back. He pulls his arms around me to keep out the cold. Leaning his lips down to my ear, the last things I hear is him say,
    I will not let this be the end. If you lead the way, I will help you fight for them.
    Then I let the night swallow me.