punishment – Pen of the Damned

“Do you believe in angels, Dr. Wells?” The rest of the therapy group rolled their eyes.

“There she goes again, on about those damn angels,” Randy growled. He crossed his arms and kicked at the floor, his metallic chair rattling against the tiled floor. “The girl’s got a fixation and I’m sick of it.”

“No, judgements, Randy. You know the rules.” Dr. Wells frowned at him and then turned to Cindy with a condescending smile. “Tell me about your angels.”

Stretching her toes, Cindy softly hummed in time to the thwap of the ceiling fan. The scent of jasmine floated in the air, stirred from some forgotten corner. In the silence, she gazed at the white walls and watched the shadows dance, while tracing a pattern on the padded arm of her chair.

Finally, she spoke. “You must believe in them to see them. I mean really believe, not just Sunday-go-to-church conviction, forgotten on Monday. If you have true faith, they can help you.”

“Fat lot of good they did you,” Randy laughed. “You’re stuck in this loony bin with the rest of us.”

“Randy,” Dr. Wells stared with another disapproving look. “What did I tell you about that?”

“Not to call this place a ‘loony bin’.” Randy slouched in his chair and scowled.

“They did help.” Cindy’s voice interrupted and everyone turned to gawk. “The angels saved me.” She smiled, but wouldn’t elaborate.

Not until the next session.

The last to arrive, Cindy sat down, easing into her chair. She looked at each person and spoke as if no time had passed. “Not all angels have white wings, you know.” She hummed and gazed upward. “Some have black wings. They’re the ones who punish sins.”

“On about your angels, again?” Randy grunted. “They’re not doing a very good job. Plenty of sinners in the world.”

Cindy glared at him, raising an eyebrow and tilting her chin. “You have to ask them first. They can’t punish anyone, if you don’t ask.”

Dr. Wells cleared his throat. “That’s what you told the police, isn’t it? That you requested angels protect you from your parents? And the angels killed them, not you?”

Cindy turned her attention to the doctor. “Yes. I don’t think they believed me, because I ended up here. But it’s the truth.”

Dr. Wells smiled. “Truth can sometimes be complicated. You’re here so we can sort what really happened that night.”

“I told you. Not believing me doesn’t make it a lie.” Cindy laughed. “I’m not crazy. They’re real, and so beautiful. Ebony feathers, ethereal faces and shining eyes, with a radiant silver aura. And the loveliest things about them are their long blood-stained claws.”

“Claws don’t sound lovely.” Randy grunted into the conversation. “Your angels are just made-up monsters.”

“They are not monsters!” Cindy stared down Randy, and he squirmed.

“Stop looking at me like that. I ain’t done nothing to you. Keep away from me with your angel delusions.”

“You have nothing to fear from my angels. You don’t have many sins, even if you pretend otherwise. Dr. Wells has sins, though,” Cindy tilted her head towards the therapist. “Dark ones.”

“I’m a sinner, am I?” Dr. Wells chuckled.

Cindy nodded. “I know what you’ve done and so do the angels.” She leaned forward. “Time for you to pay.”

“Is that a threat?” Dr. Wells straightened in his chair. As he did, he felt something brush against his shoulder and smelled a hint of jasmine. A black feather fell in his lap. An invisible hand reached into his chest, and Dr. Wells felt the last beat of his heart before a force ripped the organ out of his body in a spray of blood, bone, and flesh. His corpse crumpled to the floor. Everyone but Cindy screamed.

And somewhere in the ether, a blacked winged angel feasted on the heart of a sinner.

∼ A.F. Stewart

Stripped bare of her clothing, wrists shackled in heavy irons, ankles and neck fettered as well, she does not bother to struggle. Staring down the length of chain leading from her throat to the beast holding her bonds, disdain bleeds from her eyes as they bore into his.

“You’ve always been an arrogant cunt, it’s time someone taught you to heel,” he slurs past the malformed lump serving as his lower lip. His jagged, cracked teeth do nothing to improve his enunciation.

With a quick, hard yank, he drags her forward a step, but only one; the crunch of bone distinctly recognizable over the sound of the rattling chains. A bare flicker of emotion registers in her expression as her left wrist falls slack. Still, she stares in defiance.

Stepping down from the dais, he paces, seething with anger. The longer he paces, the angrier he becomes. Standing on the stone floor several arm lengths away, she remains stoic. His nakedness as rigid as her obstinance, he closes the gap between them in two quick strides.

“Ragged whore, I am your keeper. Without me you are nothing, as pathetic as those loathsome sheep you seem so fond of. When I command you to heel, you will do so.” The threat issuing from his vile, twisted mouth is unmistakable. Still, she stares back as the bones of her broken wrist begin to stitch together.

Wrapping the chains around his forearm to shorten the length, he looms over her, spittle flying as he roars, “You were told not to interfere.” Ah, the crux of her punishment has come to light.

They continue to stare at one another, his breathing growing heavier by the moment. Finally she breaks the silence. “And I did not, My Lord,” the slight bow of her head clearly meant to mock him; her dismissive tone conveying her disinterest in his attempt at intimidation.

With a growl that comes from deep within his chest, fury radiating from every pore of his being, he begins to froth. Using the chains wrapped around his arm, he raises her two feet above the ground, bringing her level with his eye. With the other hand, he snaps her right wrist between his forefinger and thumb. A slight groan escapes her before she can contain it. A smile begins to spread upon his face.

Cupping her ass with his free hand, he presses her body hard against his own, his want throbbing against her. He leans forward, whispers in her ear, “So you do feel. I’ve heard an angel is an extremely… erotic creature and the darker the soul, the sweeter the nectar. Perhaps I have been going about your discipline all wrong.” He slowly licks her shoulder, her neck, the side of her face, then begins to boom with laughter – intent all too clear in his eyes.

She returns his slight smile as he runs a razor-sharp black talon over her lips, tearing them to shreds. Blood begins to trickle down her chin; he laps it clean. She unfurls an obsidian wing; he stares at it in wanton lust. With lightning speed, she uses the tip of a feather to pluck his left eyeball from its socket. There is a moment of resistance as the sinew and tendons try to cling to his skull before tearing away.

Screaming in agony, he releases her and she tumbles to the stone floor. His arm still tangled in the chains, he drags her with him as he retreats to the dais until they become unwound. Cupping his empty socket, he screams, “You whore!”

Lying on the floor, she begins laughing manically.

“You fucking whore! I’ll see you dead for this!”

Gently, she places the eyeball in her mouth, blood still running down her chin from her slashed lips. Through peals of laughter, she positions her new prize between her teeth, and as he watches in horror, she smiles brightly and begins to chew.

Darting forward once more, her wing tip slams into his other eye with an audible pop, then carves it in two with a single stroke. She leaves this one in place to heal useless and deformed; a match for his lower lip, a reminder of her for the days to come.

Rising to her feet, she walks to the dais and flippantly asks, “You wish to see me dead?” With a mirthless chuckle, she leans in and whispers, “I don’t think you’ll be seeing much of anything…”

~ Nina D’Arcangela