Chapter 3

When Adam woke up two days later, he realized he felt a lot better. He was no longer in excruciating pain, on the bright side, but he was so weak with hunger and so sore he didn't know if he could even crawl to the fridge. But, his hunger won over his soreness, and he attempted to move his arm, and was hit in the face instead with a feathery thing.

"What the..." was his first reaction, followed quickly by "OH MY GOD" followed by irrational fear as he balled himself up. What the hell could that be? The only real thing he remembered from yesterday was sickness and pain, driving him delirious and half mad.

He twitched, and he felt that the thing was moving. It seemed impossible, but he felt it move along with him. He stretched his right arm, and he felt something move along with it. And he felt it for sure this time. Adam focused on the movement and made it happen again, but without moving his arm. It worked. Now, it was clicking with him. For whatever reason, whatever scared him at first was a part of him. And while he had to be a freak, he had to know what happened to him. He slowly, groggily, go to his feet and stood, looking over at the mirror to see a startling image.

It was him, but he had easily lost far too much weight to be healty. Rather than the toned muscles he was used to having in his chest and body, he looked like a starvation victim.

As shocking as a 60 pound weight loss on a 160 pound frame was, the thing that took his breath away and made him gasp and keep his mouth open and stare and wonder about his life was on his back. Or rather, extending from his back. Two of them, cramped in the space of his small trailer room, were wings of the purest white he had ever seen. The kind of white that distracted the eyes, almost repelled one's vision. And they stretched out, huge, wide and long, dominating the room. They had to extend nine feet each, and they were several feet wide. If nothing else good were to come of these, it looked like he would experience flight firsthand now.

Regardless of anything, he had lost too much weight. His knees collapsed from lack of strength and he fell, bracing himself with his arms and leaning over his floor panting. It would be a good idea to eat something. Or everything. Whichever he could get his hands on, really. He slowly rose and went over to the cabinents and devoured the bags of chips and pretzels and bread and canned food and soups. There was no food left, and he still felt hungry. He started to get back some of his flesh, but it would still be a long way from what he considered normal. He walked back into his room and crashed on the bed. His wings folded back over him, and he didn't need a blanket. He slept again, for hours upon hours.

He woke up much later with the sound of banging. And he realized he was uncovered. He threw on a pair of pants and a crappy t-shirt that seemed about to rip and then over that he put on an old faded jacket and laid back down, using the blanket to attempt to cover his wings as much as possible. Quickly feigning sleep, he heard his drunkard father beat the kitchen looking for food or beer or something, waiting until he would barge into his corner and scream until he left.