Even when freed from one cage, we may find ourselves trapped in another, where the memories of freedom linger but the skies remain out of reach.
Golden Cage
Darkness that does not dissipate. Darkness that sticks. It is an opaque, smoldering blackness that covers and obscures, like the deepest dream, the hardest to escape. Like the deep sleep that heals: it doesn't let wakefulness come close, for it only brings pain. Better while the sleep lasts, a little more... a little more and a little more. But this dream does not last forever.
An earth-shaking scream jolted the inhabitants of the house awake. Des stormed into the bathroom like a madman, asking what was wrong with me.
"Can't you see?" I shouted frantically, pointing at my hair, "How can this be?!"
Des began to examine a snow-white lock of hair as he knelt in front of me earnestly.
"Shay..." he began, then suddenly hugged me forcefully. "You are irresistibly cute!"
I hoped he would find me biting into his shoulder irresistibly cute. He let go immediately, of course, whining about my wild nature while tugging at the neck of his shirt to get a better look at the perfect imprint of my teeth.
"Look at it now, it's bleeding!" he snarled.
I can't help it if my teeth are sharp.
"I don't give a shit," I said, and he muttered something about my filthy mouth. "Can't you see my hair?"
"It looks good, though, " he winked at me, and I kicked him in the shin.
He looked up, but I couldn't wipe the half-smile off his face. Too bad. As my dear sweet brother proved useless, I turned desperately back to the mirror. I stared furiously at my reflection as if I could change the image it showed me.
"How could this be?" I asked, perplexed.
I continued to stare at my reflection as if the child in front of me could give me the answer. Not my reflection, but Des did.
"Blame the comet," the young hunter began. "I've heard some shifters have problems transforming lately; maybe it's affecting you."
"Great," I groaned. "How long before it passes Earth?"
"Who knows," he mused.
"Even better!" I snarled.
Des smiled faintly at my reaction, then suddenly became serious.
"I have to go," he declared.
I knew immediately from his tone that he was talking about a mission.
"For how long?" I asked grumpily.
"I don't really know," he confessed. "Many monsters have gone wild lately; we need all the fighters we can get to keep them in check."
Des hugged me again as he sniffed my hair, then let go a moment later before I remembered to give him a good smack on the head. With his usual motion, he ruffled my hair as he always did before he set off on his quest.
"Take care of yourself and stay out of trouble until I get home, okay?" he grinned.
I nodded, and Des left me alone again. I'd never told him what happened during the week and a half he was away—but I thought he knew perfectly well without me telling him.
I was just a kid when I met my favorite unfortunate idiot. He was weird. Really weird, and not just because he kept sniffling and sneezing even though it was May.
I must have been ten years old when they moved into the neighborhood. The couple had a son about my age and a daughter a little older. I saw them sometimes when they took the kids to school, but I ignored them.
At that time, I was only getting a theoretical education. I was taught arithmetic, literature, the history of the hunters at home, and they began to carefully drill German into me. Apart from the normal subjects, of course, the focus was on the monster as I was made to memorize ancient notes written on parchment.
I usually had new people come to teach me every other week because no one wished to teach a mixed-blood mongrel. My hair didn't change back, which meant that my average weekly change became daily.
Every single night before I went to sleep, I concentrated on getting my hair black again because I couldn't take those disgusted looks any longer. The teachers would throw me to each other like a worthless ragdoll, but that didn't change the fact that the teaching went on all morning and afternoon.
At that time, I used to watch the children in the playground with envy. Sometimes Des would sneak off and take me there, and I missed it terribly. I remember going out several times in the evenings when my lessons were over to see if I could find someone to play with me.
That night, my feet took me there, even though I was sure the playground would be empty. I sat in the swing, which creaked and roared from its sleep. I rocked slowly for a while, replaying the afternoons I spent there with my brother.
I could hear the swing next to me also being occupied. I looked up at the boy with disbelieving surprise. He was grinning.
"Are you alone?" he said.
I rolled my eyes—as if it wasn't obvious... But I nodded.
"Me too," he said. "Strange," he said, perhaps mostly to himself, "At first, I thought you were some old man... Why is your hair grey?"
I didn't answer. We just rocked around in the dark for a while.
"How about a race?" he asked cheerfully.
He drove the swing so high that it always jumped under him when it reached the dead point—but he was still smiling.
"I bet I can jump further than you!"
I looked at him. "I'm not..."
At the highest point, the boy kicked off and hovered in the air for moments before landing a few meters away. He groaned for he landed badly, yet he turned back to me, ignoring the pain, and grinned triumphantly.
"Impressed, eh?"
I sighed deeply and got up from the swing. Well, not exactly...
I gave him one more downcast look and started to walk home. The weird kid was shouting after me, but I didn't care. If that's the only kind of freak on the playground, I'd rather wait until Des gets home...
The next two days were really uneventful until one particular night. With my keen hearing, I was able to wake up in the night to even the slightest sounds—especially if they came from near my window.
My room had a single huge door window leading to a tiny balcony. I stepped out into the darkness and almost immediately spotted the same strange kid from the playground... only this time he was cowering on a tree branch and seemed afraid to move.
"Uh," he began with a bemused smile, "Can you help me?"
Or could I just watch you break your neck... I mused thoughtfully. Then I finally took pity on him and walked over to the balcony railing.
"Come closer," I instructed, "I won't be able to reach you."
The kid crept closer, millimeter by millimeter, as he reached his hand toward me. I stretched toward him eagerly until I heard the ominous crunch. He heard it too, his eyes boring alarmingly into mine, then disappearing from sight. The branch snapped.
The next thing I knew, I was leaping after him like an idiot. I cursed myself at that very moment, but since I had done the stupid thing, there was nothing I could do to salvage the situation. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and clung to the balcony with the other. I reassured myself that if I let him fall, from that height, he would break his neck and tried not to whip myself for getting into trouble—because I didn't know how I was going to explain my speed to him.
"I'll give you a boost," I declared, and I've already acted.
He grabbed anything he could and with great difficulty and a little help managed to climb up safely. Of course, he was very grateful and wanted to help me up but I discouraged his unnecessary nonsense with an irritated look and simply jumped up onto the railing. He was sitting on the ground, breathing heavily as if he had just been confronted with death himself. Well, maybe he did say hello to death for a moment...
"I thought I was done for," he began, now with that unbroken cheerfulness that made me want to vomit. "Thanks for the rescue."
He looked up at me. "You're very strong, I had no idea..."
"How did you get up the tree?" I asked before he had time to continue his thoughts.
"I leaned out of the window because I wanted to lift the kitten, but I slipped and fell."
Unfortunate fool. A disaster walking on two legs.
After that night, the unlucky moron started harassing me regularly. I couldn't even enjoy my siesta after lunch because he would turn up in the evening and invite me to the playground. In short, he wouldn't let me breathe.
He once suggested a lunch date and thought it would be a great idea if he came over to our house or I came over to theirs and we enjoyed the childish pleasures of life together—I didn't share his opinion. So a week went by, then a few more days, and I began to feel myself softening in a totally Shayless way.
"You're annoying," I said several times, but he just grinned.
As if nothing could spoil his pleasure—yet I knew he was just an idiot.
"You don't have to smile," I said.
His eyes widened, and the smile disappeared immediately. Even he herself didn't know that those were the words he longed for most. I told him what he wanted to hear. No more, no less. Exactly that.
"I just don't know how I should behave..." he began, his voice soft and heartbreakingly sad.
The boy was lonely, so he always smiled. Whether he was embarrassed, hurt, or angry, he smiled—even when his hands trembled with suppressed emotion. It seemed that he believed the easiest way to navigate unpleasant situations was to put on a smile. Perhaps he was afraid, or maybe he thought people wouldn't like him if he didn't smile.
I noticed that he often took a long time to think before speaking; he only forgot about this when he was excited. His words were deliberate, his speech slower than the average child's, revealing his deep-seated fear. I saw it in his eyes: an immense longing to be loved, a need to please, and the pain of constant failure.
I sighed deeply. No family is perfect. To the outside world, they present an illusion of perfection, while the reality is often harsh. Everyone has their secrets, their demons—and some questions don't need to be asked.
"When you're with me, you don't have to smile," I said again.
The boy then cried. I wanted to roll my eyes at him and call him a crybaby, but I just threw a tissue at him. He was happier than if I'd given him strawberry pudding, his favorite. He smiled—his first genuine smile since we met. I finally threw another tissue at him, and he laughed. I don't understand humans.
I observed that the boy loved birds. He often fed the pigeons in the garden. At one point, I almost asked why he bothered with such a pointless activity, but then I decided I didn't care enough to ask.
Another time, while I was indulging in my favorite activity—doing nothing—he joined me. We lay on the grass and stared at the sky.
"Have you ever imagined what it would be like to fly?" he asked cheerfully. "If you could just spread your arms and enjoy the wind?"
"I don't think about unnecessary things," I replied, though I imagined it anyway.
Mica arrived that day. I didn't notice him at first because I was preoccupied with the boy. He teased me about being soft, and to prove him wrong, I threw the first object I could grab—a coffee machine—at him. It must have hurt a lot.
In any case, he finally managed to pacify me while the boy making jam. Initially, I protested, not wanting his sticky sweetness, but eventually, he shoved a spoonful in my mouth. I would never admit it, but it was delicious.
"What?" he asked with a goofy grin that made me want to wipe it off his face with a flyswatter. Getting hit in the face with a flyswatter would be painful enough, I think.
"It's horrible," I replied mercilessly.
He grinned wickedly. "You don't want any then?"
"It wasn't that bad," I shrugged.
He ruffled my hair—a trick he'd learned from Dest. It was extremely annoying and almost made me want to jab him with the fork I was holding.
I thought about what the boy had said about flying. Until then, I hadn't considered it something to enjoy for more than a fleeting moment. Of course, the higher you jump from, the longer you can be free. We all crave that tiny, fragile freedom that intoxicates us.
"What was that for?!" Mica asked angrily.
I shrugged. "I heal anyway."
Mica snorted. No one dares to jump from too great a height for fear of the pain of impact.
The boy wouldn't leave me alone until I agreed to visit their house on Sunday, my only completely free day. He had a thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle that kept me occupied, distracting me from how pathetic I felt for hanging out with such an unfortunate idiot. I didn't even notice him messing with my hair.
"You still haven't told me why it's gray..." he began.
"It's a rare disease," I said quickly. "Not very interesting."
He smiled bitterly, and only one sound came from his throat. "Oh."
There was too much understanding and sympathy in his voice for me to ignore. I already detect the faint whiff of medicine from his scent. That was why I chose that excuse.
After that, the boy's mom called us to the kitchen and gave us chocolate pudding, instructing us to eat it in the yard since the weather was nice. After we finished, I lay on the grass and watched the tiny bits of sky peeking through the green canopy.
A birch tree stood in the boy's garden, and I really liked it. The boy sat beside me, his back against the bark.
"If you could be an animal, what would you be?" he asked. Another silly question.
"A snake," I finally answered.
"Why?" he asked curiously.
"Because I am like a snake," I replied.
If I were a shapeshifter and could turn into an animal, it would definitely be a snake. After all, in the Bible, Satan took the form of a snake, and since I was named after him, it seemed fitting.
"I would be a bird," he declared.
I sat up and looked at him, puzzled.
"Birds are masters of the sky. They fly wherever they please. They are the freest creatures in the world. Don't you think so?"
"Not quite," I confessed.
"Then what do you think?"
"The birds look down on us," I said coldly.
"Do you hate them?" he asked, surprised.
"I wouldn't say that," I shrugged. "But I don't like them either."
"I see," he said, standing up and dusting off his trousers.
He took a few steps forward and then stopped, folding his arms behind his back. I knew he expected me to get up too.
"I'm glad you could come today," he said kindly, though he didn't turn around. "It was my last day here. Tomorrow we move again."
"What?" I groaned.
He glanced back at me, but only for a second—just long enough for me to see the tears he was trying so hard to hide. He forced a smile, though there was no joy in his voice.
"I always wondered why you didn't ask my name," he began. "I might be a bit selfish but I'd like you to remember."
He pointed up to the sky. "Himmel. My name is Moses Himmel," he said, and then he sobbed.
It was our last afternoon together.
I had always felt like I was trapped in a cage. I had known about the golden cage's existence, but I had never wanted to escape—it was I who had created it. It kept me in and others out. It wasn't until I met the boy who dreamed of flying that I began to consider what lay beyond the bars. I had no idea that the open sky was not paradise either.
My wings were dirty, injured, and at one point, I had lost them. It was this boy who had rescued me from the birdcage. But what awaited me outside was an even larger golden cage, where he was no longer by my side.
I gasped for air, startled. Whether it was morning, evening, dark, or light, I was momentarily disoriented by my surroundings and my inner turmoil. I slumped onto the bare floor of the cell, wondering why the fuck I had dream about that unlucky bastard from all the people.
I decided to summon up the King's Comand. My first attempt failed miserably.
"Let me out."
At first, he was surprised that I had even spoken to him. Then he snorted and walked away.
"Did you really think he was going to let you out?"
"Shut up," I growled.
"I know what you're up to," Zack said seriously. "Titania does it sometimes... she gets me to do what she wants this way."
"It's called the King's Command," I sighed.
"There's something wrong with your voice," he said. "Perhaps you should be more forceful."
So I began trying with the guards twice a day—once in the morning and once in the evening. At first, they laughed, then they scrutinized me piercingly, and finally, they ignored me altogether.
"I don't understand why it doesn't work," I sighed.
"Something's wrong with your voice," Zack mused. "Titania sounds different. Do you really believe what you command will happen?"
That same day at lights out, I demanded the guard to let me out again. He took out the key, walked over to my cell, and obediently unlocked it. I jumped up and stepped to the bars, unable to believe I had actually succeeded. The man's gaze seemed a bit hazy as if he were in a trance.
"Okay. Now lock the door and forget what happened. After this, you will secretly bring food to me and the fae every day because you took pity on us. Do you understand? All right, you won't remember this conversation either, but that doesn't stop you from carrying out this order. You can continue your patrol."
The next day, the man returned with two loaves.