Matthew

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic


Matthew is a fallen angel who loses his mind and kidnaps Anna, taking her to his home in the forest.

Submitted: July 10, 2018

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Submitted: July 10, 2018

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It was dark. Her name was Anna and she was a little tipsy, walking back to her car. Despite the chill, she wore a crop top and ripped dark jeans. She was young, early twenties.

 

She heard something behind her, a cough maybe. She froze. In an instant, a hand clamped itself over her mouth, holding a cloth that smelled strongly of harsh chemicals. She collapsed into his arms.

 

His name, he had decided, was Matthew. He was tall and thin with bright white hair that shown in the headlights of passing cars as he sped along with Anna crumpled in the trunk. He wasn’t sure how old he was, he guessed maybe nineteen or twenty. It didn’t matter anyway.

 

Anna woke slowly, her vision blurry. Her head throbbed. The world around her shifted so that just sitting up made her nauseous.

 

He hoisted her out of the trunk quickly, onto the soft soil, causing her to vomit. They were on the very edge of civilization, out in the woods, far enough away that no one would be able to hear her scream. Matthew would use that to his advantage. He let her writhe there for a moment while he pulled a hammer out of the front seat cup holder.

 

Anna coughed up some vomit before being turned so that her back was flat against the ground. She screamed. Matthew was smashing the hammer repeatedly against her knees.

 

Smash, scream, smash, scream. She sobbed desperately as Matthew carried her into the house. The only words she could get out were, “Why are you doing this to me?”

 

Matthew remained silent. He cradled her close to his chest, his heart racing, his breaths shallow. Her sobbing gradually turned to whimpers, and he laid her down on the bed, and tucked her in delicately. She passed out almost instantly.

 

The house was in various states of decay throughout. In her bedroom though, he’d freshened it up as much as he could. He’d driven into town and bought fresh bedding, and a few decorations, including a house plant that he watered daily. Underneath all this, though, the walls still smelled of mold, and had obvious signs of water damage from a flood that happened long before he moved in.

 

He ran his fingers through his hair and rolled back his shoulders, giving a quick sigh. He scratched at the rope around his midsection, and went outside. Slowly and tiredly he unbuttoned his shirt and undid the knots. With a massive whoosh his wings unfurled behind him. He grimaced. Under all the dirty grey patches, they glistened magnificently white. In one place they hung at a weird angle, where he’d broken them from the fall. Pink flesh poked out in this area and feathers floated to the forest floor. He arduously tried to spread them further, but halted halfway through. The pain was nearly unbearable, even after all this time.

 


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