In the spitting fire, he runs leaps up towards the sky, up and down, shaking wings. Free atlast. A mad woman running away from this discouraging scene, he looks down at her. She has a bottle of red wine, smudged lipstick around her mouth, a packet of ciggarettes and only but a silk white dress on her. Capturning her from the fire she pleads for her death. ”Drop me, i beg you,” she says. A voice. A soft insucure voice. He flys up to the hillside to safety, droops down to set her free. ”What are you?” she whispered. bewildered eyes, big brown eyes and that smudged lipstick. ”i’m not sure, what are you?” the winged man asked. ”I’m not too sure of that either”.
A fatal accident, life stormed up a ball of energy, shooting them to a crisp. Light had finally entered her eyes. She had spoken like a song. He finally met someone as confuesed as he was. He flew.
They lived on, burned alive by eachother. She, drunk and causing caois. he, to rationalise and fly away with her. Brutally perfect for eachother. In all of their madness.