The pain just doesn't end.
My mind went a long time ago. I had thought that the pain and the coherent thought would have gone too, but apparently they chose not to desert me, therefore tormenting me further. The torture has not yet loosened my tongue, protecting the secrets I must keep. My keepers look at me with merciless eyes as they drive my spirit away from my body with my red, red lifeblood. So far, they have just used physical pain. Now, the sadistic bastards hands grope for the wings sprouting from my back. The white feathers change to huge butterfly wings, to bat wings, to every other form imaginable, though always white. The disgusting hands touching the spiritual matter making my wings run along the changing lengths of them, eventually running along to the base. The hands tightened, and the worst pain ever felt by anyone, even Jesus Christ, exploded from my wings, and after a few seconds I fell into a very deep, very black sleep.
When I wake, the first thing I do is scream. I sit up and reach behind my back as I do so, and even though I try to summon my wings, nothing comes. After a few moments of doubt in my angelic power, I realize there is nothing to summon. I feel wet, hot tears run down my face as I realize the truth. An angel, a seraphim angel, has been caught by humans and had her wings torn out. Wings being torn out, or freier is a massive worry for angels assigned to Earth at first, because while it is rare, some angels will sin, and so the Lord will tear out their wings. I feel my sanity return with this terrifying truth. I feel a piece of myself missing, as if my wings had held a part of my soul. I try to get past my sorrow for a moment and examime my surroundings. My prison seems to be a semi-large room, with white walls, white floors, white everything, as if mocking my home in Heaven. The air is cool, but not cold and unpleasant. I am lying in an overlarge four-poster bed (again white) and I am wearing a clean white cotton shirt, white jeans, and my back has been dressed with bandages. As I slip my feet out of the warm bed and into some white leather sandals, I gaze around and see a bathroom adjacent to my bed, and a wardrobe full of more clean white outfits. I slowly rise and examine my cell. No doors or windows. I hit a wall in frustration. Then, a hidden door (a panel really) on the wall slides open noiselessly, and a teenage girl my age walks in with a tray in her hands. The tray holds a ham and cheese sandwich, an apple and an orange, and a large polystyrene cup full of water. I pick the ham out of the sandwich ( I don't like ham) and just eat the cheese sandwich, I pass over the apple and eat the orange, and take a gulp of water. I stare at the girl, who backs very quickly out of the door, which slides shut behind her. I try to remember somthing about myself, to give myself something to hold onto. Details slowly come to mind. My name on Earth is Holly Blair. I am seventeen years old. I was sent by the Lord to help humanity, but was interuppted by the human minions of Satan and dragged down to Hell. I was tortured for weeks, because Hell is trying to find the gates from Earth to Heaven. I did not say anything, of that I am sure. If I had, I would not be alive. I decide to try and sleep again, so I crawl back into the bed, and close my eyes against the tears rising in them, as I remember my wings, and what it felt like to fly.