The Winged Guardian - 4 One After Another

Something square and hard jagged against my head. It fell down on the floor and turned out to be books—big binding books. Slowly pushing myself out of the heavy heap, I stacked it one after another beside me wondering at the colorful hardcopies that were covering my body without reasons.

How did I end up in here?

There was no light but, looking around, I found myself in the familiar space of my bedroom. I switched on the white neon-light and checked all the doors and windows which were well locked. Everything was in order.

I went over to mum’s room—it was fine. In the kitchen—nothing was out of normal. I got a pack of frozen spaghetti and ate. My stomach was empty. The house was empty. My head was empty.

I could not recall a thing. It was exceptionally peaceful.

My stomach was full now and I went back into my room to prepare a canvas. Getting into a mood, I used the paintbrush to mix blue and black acrylic colors, then spread the indigo on the pale sheet in front of me. The emptiness on the canvas started to fill and, slowly, so did my head.

My hand was unconsciously drawing a guy with wings—wait, what!

It was that night!

I grabbed a big walnut patterned sheet and threw it over the unfinished painting, too scared to look at it any longer. My head started to rearrange the events from yesterday night in which I went to see Dale but got a curse, this morning in which I stalked the monster but was found out, and just now in which I was drawing in such a joyful mood but it turned out to be the picture of that monster! Everything went wrong one after another.

I remembered now. I ran home after that monster threatened me. I locked every entrance and got myself squashed by heaps of books to feel safe before falling asleep—no, fainting.

Light chilly air touched my neck. I swiveled my head and saw the curtain flying with the current of cool night wind that came through the opened window. I chuckled—

I had locked every doors and windows and now it was open.

Everything went wrong one after another!

“Hey,”

I quickly turned to the direction of the voice, jaws hung like a fool with disbelief. There, at the edge of my bed, s—sat Dylan Ziarre!

“H—how did you get in?” I asked, voice quavering, felt a little—no a lot!—spooked.

“Now, now, before you run away or cry or scream again, let me tell you, I mean no harm.” said Dylan as he stood up and took of his jacket showing sleeveless warm grey shirt. He advanced toward me.

I fell back a little. “How can I trust you? You—you are—”

“I’m a demon.”

Huge gust of wind appeared out of nowhere. It surrounded Dylan Ziarre like a hurricane. I had just noticed that he did not have bandages on his head. So when his black hair was rising with the wind, a mark similar to that on the forehead of mine was imprinted there. It casted a bright blue radiance that temporarily blinded my eyes. When I regained my sight, a pair of huge obsidian wings was whirling elegantly on his back where it then rested shiny and shimmering. His black marble pupils had turned into jewel of the sea, brilliantly sparkling with colors of blue and green.

Many glowing circular symbols appeared on the floor, under my feet where I stood and under his. My legs refused to move me and the plaster flew away in the unnatural currents. Despite the bright lights that pulsed over my eyes, all I can felt was calmness and coolness as if this wave of light had washed away all my worries and pains. When the symbols on the floor disappeared and the magic-light died down, the weird identical mark to that on Dylan’s head had vanished.

I was about to shout with glee when he said,

“Now, that’s done. Our contract.”

I had a hard time getting to my voice. “Wha—what? Contract? I’m GONNA DIE!”

“What! Why? Why?” Dylan almost shouted too.

“Because you’ll kill me!”

“No!” Dylan put his face in his black hand. (Heck! From his elbows until his hands were black!) “I said I won’t harm you!”

“No, you won’t!” I began to sob. “You’ll kill me!”

“I won’t kill you!”

That did shut me up.

The demon sighed, “Just relax and listen okay?” and he threw himself on my bed. “I’m a demon,” he began once again, “don’t freak out just yet! We, demons, usually do not show our real selves to people like you unless—” There was quite a long pause and the pessimistic thought almost taken over me again. ‘Unless we want to kill you’ was what I had in mind but he continued at quite a different topic, “—we like you.”

I startled. “Y—you like me?”

“Of course not! How could I? You—you’re—”

“I’m what?”

“Anyway,” he quickly changed the subject. “we only show ourselves to people we choose, people we like, because human who witnesses our true form has to make a contract with us.”

Curse and contact kind of mingled up in my head and I wondered if it was a ‘contract for the curse’ or ‘curse of the contract.’ “W—what sort of contract?”

“The contract which enforces me to serve under you,” he pressed his lips. “to protect you, to help you out of any troubles or dangers, A.K.A., your bodyguard.”

“I don’t want a slave!”

“I said bodyguard!” Dylan groaned. “Look. I don’t know how you saw me like this in the first place but this thing,” he put his index on where the mark used to be. “—came up yesterday, and that means I’m already tied with someone. I just didn’t know who it was! And never thought it’d be you!”

He said it as if all the fault was on me. And maybe it is—I thought as my mind made a quick visit to the memory of that night and my eyes made a quick glance at the covered up portrait. I felt bad. I should not have looked at him. I should not be there on that day!

I sighed. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”

“There’s nothing we can do. I’ll just have to do my duty.” said Dylan. He was clearly upset.

Guilt rushed up in me all of a sudden. “Will this contract ever—expire?”

“Well…actually…yes.”

“How? When?” I leapt closer to the demon, instantly felt excited at the potential solution for both of us.

“Well, when you make a request, I will grant it but—” he seemed reluctant, “demons don’t serve you for free. We do it for your souls. After working for you, we’ll be exhausted, so we need your soul to refill our power.”

“My soul?”

Dylan nodded. “Demons gain power by consuming human’s soul.”

And I’d die!

Wasn’t it all the same! After investing so much energy on stalking this guy, became happy for a short moment thinking that I did not have to die because it was not a curse. No, this is a curse! It curses me to be this demon’s master, and I’ll have to die in the end anyway!

Depressed, I plunged down into the gloom when, almost immediately, a light bulb lighted my murky head up.

What if I never make a request—? This was an interesting proposal from the light bulb, since I had never really made any request—or even talk—to Dylan since I had come to know his face. I, in fact, do not need to make any request to him or ask for his help. The splendid knowledge shone bright light of hope all over my world. I will not have to die! He cannot take my soul because he hasn’t done a thing for me!

“What’s this?”

Dylan was pulling off the walnut patterned cloth on the portrait as I was about to jump with glee. I veered my jump at him and knocked him down. Glossy and soft black feathers from his wing got into my mouth and eyes as I did. My stationary box on the easel was smashed and a cutter and scissors fell out. I was not in a good position staying under him and rode toward the sharp edges of them.

Dylan caught both my arms and turned me upside. I ended up lying on him.

“S—sorry. I—I didn’t ask you to help—” I quickly got up but there was something wet on my hand. I looked down on the floor and saw a small pool of clear water.

“What’s this?” I rubbed them on my jeans.

Dylan sat up wincing. He took the left wing which was weirdly wet and flipped it back. The cutter was sticking there, straight and sharp, with clear liquid spurting from the spot flowing down in a mite stream.

“Don’t tell me it’s your blood!”

Dylan nodded.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” I scurried down stair and came back up with a first aid. Dylan was groaning. He had already taken the cutter out. I did not know how to bandage the wing. So I just put a plaster on there but it fell off.

“It’s all right.” The demon said with a smile. His voice was still sweet and soft. And he looked at me so kindly that I was briefly embarrassed by those sparkling eyes. “Thank you.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m a demon! Small wounds don’t budge me.”

I relaxed but smeared more antiseptic onto the wound just in case, when Dylan chuckled.

“I like this.” he said fetching me to where he was looking. My face went crimson red seeing my painting fully exposed. “Is it me?” He asked.

“Ye—I mean Yo! No. No! It’s not you!”

He seemed skeptical. “There can’t be anybody else with black wings. And that hair, those eyes…it has to be me.”

“No, no, not you! It’s just a person with wings!”

“Which is me.”

“No! It’s someone I know.” Aaaaargh! No!

“Which is me.”

“No! It’s my imaginary friend!”

“Hmm?” Dylan smiled naughtily and leaned on the painting. “You imagine that I am your friend?”

Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!

“I can be your friend.” He said friendlily.

One after another—things went WRONG!