• Of course, at this time, while lying in the hospital bed, (eyes closed, trying to go back to sleep,) I didn't believe what had happened just days before at all. I hadn't thought, for just a second, that I really had died, or that there really was a voice. It had just been my brain fooling right me, right? That's just what happened. I fell over the edge, and as my body rolled (bounced) down the side of the mini-cliff I had banged my head, fallen unconscious, bashed myself up a bit and had a dream in which some voice spoke to me. Someone else might have considered it to be a message from God.
    But I didn't.
    So that's that.
    I sighed to myself. "Certain death" seemed stupid. I wasn't even that high up. Lots of people fall off the edge and get up and walk it off, right? I was just unlucky enough to get bashed around by the fall/roll.
    I ran my fingers through what little part of my brunet hair wasn't bandaged up. I'm quite glad they didn't have to operate on my brain or anything. I'd be sad to lose my hair, actually. It's one of the few things I can be proud of, and--
    I lowered my hand to go over my lap. However, instead of feeling the hospital bed sheets, I felt... leather?
    I opened my eyes.
    I kinda wish I hadn't.
    I tried to scream, but as soon as I opened my mouth it was covered by a hand in black laced arm-warmers with freakishly-long black fingernails...
    To you, this description might not seem scary. Now that I think about it, it just seems gay. Really gay. But at the time, lying in a hospital bed with a boy with huge, black, feathered wings, talons for feet, claws for nails, dressed all in leather and chains leaning over you is damn scary.
    Gay, but scary.

    "Hello, there!" He greeted, sounding enthusiastic about the whole situation.
    His hand was still covering my mouth, and it was a bit hard to get the correct amount of oxygen to my brain.
    I just stared at him. His head. He had jet-black feathers for hair, pointing in all directions (and a feather fringe?). He had little grey skull earrings in. His face. White, porcelain skin (Oh yes, porcelain) and a pointed face (You could cut cheese on his chin), but more importantly, eyes. Yes, yes he had eyes, which is always good, but it was the face that his eyes were completely red that caught my attention more than the previous fact. Like an animal's...
    Sinister, to say the least.

    I tugged at his hand, trying to inform him that, hey, I cannot breathe, here!
    "Don't scream this time, okay?"
    I nod.
    "Promise?"
    I nod again, faster.
    He released my mouth and--
    I screamed.
    Well.
    Actually, I did not scream because that would be too feminine. I just yelled.
    "WHO THE F*CK ARE YOU, AND WHY ARE YOU LEANING OVER ME SO GOD-DAMN HAPPILY YOU FREAK OF NATURE?!!"
    He didn't seem very happy as he blocked my air supply once again, with his fist instead of his palm this time.
    "Liar." He --and you'll have to try to imagine him as creepy as I did when I say this-- pouted. Seriously. A little poutey-face. I hated this guy already.
    "I bring you back from the land of crapiness and here you are calling me a freak of nature? Rude!...And stop making your heart beat so fast, the real weirdos (the ones in white coats) will come shove tubes in you or something. That's how human logic works, right? You panic, so they fill you with tubes."
    "Mrfghn-nrgh." His fist was still jammed in my mouth.
    "What?"
    "Mrh phfed 'Mrfghn-nrgh'."
    "That's not helpful."
    "....Mfhack-acks." Feel free to stuff your own fist down your throat and try to translate that yourself.
    He let go and tilt his head to the side, feathery-hair falling almost over his eyes. A picture that someday I may consider to be "Sweet", but at the time it was "very very annoying".
    Actually, it still is a bit.
    I moved my jaw around, trying to remove the taste of leather. "H-...Here's a question..." of which I had around 30, most of them somehow asking "What you you, Mr.Freaky-freak~?" However, his head spun behind us (he moves his whole body, he doesn't have a neck like an owl, thank God) and stared at the door.
    "Damn, they're back already?"
    "What?" Probably should have asked "Who?", but keep in mind what was (almost) sitting on me.
    "I'll see you later, alright?" And before I could finish my objection he had covered my eyes with his gloved-palm, forcing my eyes closed. By the time the force had been removed from my face, the freak had vanished, only my family members remaining in the room.
    Them, and a single black feather placed on my pillow.
    I later turned said feather into a quill, by the way.
    I spill ink all over myself, the paper and the table every time I try to use it.
    That's how I can now tell that the feather is his, and his alone.
    ...That and the fact is smells like leather and chocolate muffins.